Kinetics
by unexpectedmocha
Summary: AU. Almost a year has passed since Katie returned to London. Her heart still beats. Her lungs still hold air. For all poisons have a half-life, don't they? Even Effy Stonem. Sequel to Conflict of Interest.
1. Acceptance

**A/N: If you haven't read COI, this isn't going to make a lick of sense. Or it might read very cryptically, I'm not sure. You have been warned.  
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><p><strong>Acceptance<strong>

The end of Katie's new beginning was bittersweet.

She should have said no from the get go, as soon as she opened that seemingly innocuous email and read its venomous contents. The school had ostensibly asked her, though she knew very well who had recommended her for the job. She should have said no; it would be too much, wouldn't it? Her mistake had been letting it play to her guilty sodding conscience.

_The kids like you, Katie. They would be happy to see you along._

So naturally she had smiled all tight lipped and obliging and volunteered herself to be some sort of chaperone for the trip. She refused to be frightened of a fucking _building_. There were adverts everywhere for this special exhibition or that piece on loan from such and such famous establishment. It was bullshit, of course. A few hundred years of thievery and _voila_: a tourist attraction. _A house of stolen antiquities_ is what the girl had called it. But then that wasn't Katie's personal stance on the issue in the first place. It never had been and she didn't know why all of a fucking sudden she so vehemently agreed with it when there were at least fifty reasons she could think of why the British Museum was not the prime evil of Western archaeology.

And those reasons had _nothing_ to do with the implied hypocrisy of Fitch Pharmaceutical being the major sponsor of the new Ming dynasty programme even if that had been Katie's prevailing sentiment.

She would have said she had no idea why the argument sprang to mind, and anyone who knew Katie Fitch would have known her for a liar. Deep down, she knew why she had an unexpected case of serious moral misgivings about the acquisitions stockpiled in Bloomsbury. The excuse was convenient, an easy way to explain why she didn't want to go. Over a year, and she didn't want to go. It was only a stupid school trip, and she only a stupid adult along to make sure the children didn't wander away or touch everything with sticky fingers. They'd asked last minute for her to fill in, asked for there had been no one else. It didn't _matter_, which was exactly the rationale for why she spent the whole of the drive from Brentford to Great Russell Street violently replying to emails like her phone had done her a great personal wrong.

Warrick, her driver, left her at the gate and she stayed stood there with nothing to shelter her against the unseasonal May rain. Throngs of school children and tourists trekked over the wet grey stonework in the courtyard. For an impossibly long time, she hesitated, lingering like a fool, attempting to avoid the inevitable by refusing the cross the threshold of the property. Unbidden, the memory crept up to her, her mind far too effortlessly identifying those little characteristics that _she_ had once pointed out to Katie in that very space on a sunny March afternoon.

The ways, if she looked closely, if she listened of all fucking things, that she also could see the world with wider eyes. There a group of French students, and here two Germans. And Americans, loads of them, in clothes too casual for London, in footwear better suited to a theme park than the city. Of the things for her to remember, why had that day persisted through the others she'd forgotten? Her ruminations were thankfully interrupted, however, by a tall, handsome man in a dark raincoat who held his umbrella over her and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Miss Fitch," he said, proffering his arm.

Katie slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "You didn't have to come out."

"You're doing me a favour, Katie. The least I could do is walk you in."

The soft burr of Adam's rolled Scottish Rs reverberated through his chest, and Katie smiled in turn at him. Solid beneath her hand, his not inconsiderable bicep flexed as he escorted her up the front stairs of the museum toward the central rotunda.

"We'd better be quick. Grace is up there by herself."

They strode quickly through the entranceway, Katie unable hide her smile when she saw the aforementioned Grace across the white stretch of tile, the lone teacher who had been abandoned at the mercy of a boisterous lot of year five students. A flash of hope flitted across the woman's harried features when Katie waved. Evidently, the children had seen her as well because within two seconds she had been inundated by Lilliputians.

"Miss Katie!" one of the boys shouted and hugged her.

Grace sighed helplessly, but Adam grinned at her over the boy's head. Katie's eleven months back in London washed over her in a flood. She was well over Effy, and she bore her stony apathy like a shield before her as proof.

[Are you ready?] Katie signed to the children.

Warmed by the twenty eager nods that bobbed in jerky counterpoint to one another, Katie gently herded them closer to the docent that had struck up a conversation with Adam about the route they would be taking through the Ancient Egypt collection. The big Scot fell into step with her as she moved past.

"See?" Adam murmured close to her ear. "They love you."

Smiling, he deposited a cheeky kiss on her temple. It was then that Katie realised that maybe, maybe things were as good as she could expect them to be. That she had come full circle to the conclusion of her starting over in London. It didn't feel as though it were the end, didn't feel as though it should have taken her days upon weeks upon months to craft, but when it came the feeling was neither profound or epiphanic. The end was akin to a shrugging off, the absence of something rather than the gain; like she'd shed her shackles, but was it only when she had stopped straying to the edge of the prison yard?

Perhaps there were other kinds of happiness, which would with time be greater in their worth than the sum of their parts. Because she was happier than she had ever been.

.

.

.

.

.

Wasn't she?


	2. Chapter 1: Chronobiology

**Chapter 1**

**Chronobiology: **The scientific study of biological rhythms and cycles in living organisms

It was how she ended up back at Fitch.

_Summer_

Emily had never been keen on Heathrow, so the speed she conjured up that afternoon was unexpected. She hastily pushed open the door of the Fitch car, not pausing to give the driver instructions before she darted toward the sliding doors into the terminal. She'd been delayed, horribly, infuriatingly delayed by a staff meeting that didn't even directly involve legal and now she was late. Katie's plane had been due to arrive hours ago. Pulling her phone free of her bag, Emily dialled her again. Katie was an adult. It wasn't like she needed Emily to fetch her, or couldn't afford a taxi to Chelsea, but after everything, the guilt of not being there the second Katie set foot on British soil again weighed heavily on her psyche. Bad enough that Katie hadn't let her go to Minnesota to help with the move back, and there she was late, running round Heathrow like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Fucking pick up, Katie!" Emily said in frustration as she searched the walls and corners for any evidence of her slightly older sister.

When the call went to voicemail on her second attempt, Emily texted her.

_I'm here. Where are you?_

Well, the plane was there at any rate and had been for approximately two hours, if the arrivals screens could be trusted. That was more than enough time for Katie to have made it through the Border Force checkpoints and collected her luggage. Unless the officers had suddenly taken exception to the look of her and decided that the nation would be safer as a whole with fewer Fitches about. Emily frowned at the blank screen that stared back at her from the palm of her hand. Her last message from Katie had been a misspelt drunk affair at one AM the previous morning, which didn't exactly inspire a lot of confidence that Katie had actually made it onto the aircraft, now she thought on it. Once more, she'd try once more before she resorted to more drastic measures. As Emily held the phone to her ear, she let out a sigh of relief when she heard Katie's distant ring in response. Emily moved in the direction of the sound until she was outside again.

"Katie?" Emily called.

"Hi, Ems," Katie replied.

Spinning on the spot, Emily soon saw she'd walked right by Katie on her way in. The spectacle that met her was strange, so unlike Katie that at once Emily didn't particularly blame herself for the oversight. Katie Fitch with her hair loose and mussed. Katie Fitch sitting on top of her single suitcase, which had been carelessly tipped over onto the pavement, the shortness of her skirt be damned. Her first impulse was to go to Katie and hug her, but Katie waved her off and stood, her guard clearly back up.

"Where have you been?" Emily asked gently. "I've been trying to get hold of you for fucking ages."

Katie rolled her eyes. "Just got down here, didn't I?"

"Did you get my texts?"

"You got held up with fucking Wally."

"I'm sorry. I got here as quick as I could."

"Whatever. I've not been waiting long."

Emily doubted that was true, but she didn't pursue the matter further. "Did you want to go to yours or…?"

Katie started to answer, the words slipping from her lips automatically, but she trailed off, her expression uncertain as her eyes glazed over. Ducking her head contritely, Emily remembered the last time Katie had been in her own house that Effy had been there with her, that perhaps it wasn't the best place for her to go. Not if it meant pretending the enormous fucking elephant that was obviously crushing her didn't exist, not if it meant her going there alone.

"Naomi's away," Emily offered.

"Where to?" said Katie, her tone concealing very little of her bitterness.

"A special consultation."

"Again?"

"There's been another outbreak of the Zaire strain."

Eyes widening, Katie crossed her arms. "If she doesn't have a positive pressure suit I'm sending her one right—"

"It's just a quarantine response meeting." Emily reached out and touched her shoulder to reassure her. "She'll come back to me soon."

"Hopefully not with fucking Ebola."

"Hopefully not."

Out of nowhere, Katie laughed coldly. "I just can't stop being a bitch, can I? She's doing a lovely thing, a lovely selfless thing and I—" She laughed again. "Well, I'm just me."

"Fitch needs _you_, Katie."

"No one needs me." Hefting her suitcase, Katie glanced around. "Where's the car?"

Emily sighed. "Warrick's just there."

A slender older man waited some distance away beside the sleek black vehicle. Warrick lifted his striped trilby in reply to the twins' look, his rat faced grin gave his a stronger resemblance to a shady bookie than Jenna's driver of twenty years. Katie gazed up at her sister, vaguely astonished that Jenna had parted with him because Warrick hadn't driven her anywhere since she was at uni; and then also ashamed as the last time she had seen him any longer than in passing was Boxing Day two years past.

"I was in a hurry," Emily muttered by way of explanation.

Her irritated twitch conveyed that she had more or less pinched him from the motorpool without their mother's knowledge or permission.

"All right, then, Katie?" Warrick asked.

"Fine, Warrick," Katie said. "And you?"

"Aside from being ordered about by Miss Emily here, can't complain, can't complain."

In spite of her herself, Katie smiled. "I'm glad."

"Where are your bags?"

Pointing at her suitcase, Katie raised her eyebrows. "Here."

"What? That's it? Just the one?" said Emily.

"Does it look like I have any others?"

"It's…a bit weird."

Katie shrugged as she handed the bag to Warrick. "Thought I'd have a go at travelling lighter."

Emily sighed quietly, knowing too well the sort of baggage Katie was really anxious to shed.

_Fall_

The press seethed in a swarm outside the front entrance to Fitch Headquarters. Katie could see them easily enough from the upper floor. They'd been there when she arrived herself for the day and she was curious if they had managed to infiltrate around the back as well, enough to assault Jenna and Rob with questions and flashbulbs when they arrived at the company. To be frank, she wished she were out there. A mob of bloodthirsty journalists appealed to her far more than what she was about to do.

"Katie," Michael hissed from behind her. "Your mother will see you now."

Turning away from the window, Katie spread her fingers against the tempered plate glass. Michael's forehead creased down in a tired furrow, as he fielded yet another call. She had listened to approximately ten or fifteen iterations of this routine, and could discern from the tone of the assistant's greeting whether he had just connected with one of Jenna's friends, an investor, a journalist, a regulatory agency. It made her skin prickle with shame.

"She still like, insists I go in?" Katie whispered.

Michael nodded apologetically, blocking the mouthpiece of his headset with his hand. "I'm afraid she does."

There was a churning turmoil of bad publicity and government sanctions shaking the firm and Jenna still had the nerve to summon her up to the office as though Katie were a slacking analyst who needed a motivational speech. Right then. The meeting would be brief. Crossing her arms, Katie marched into Jenna's office. She closed the door behind her, just as a precaution because she had no desire for Michael to hear their shouting. Jenna, it seemed, also had a penchant for looking out of windows, her face shadowed as she gazed into the red and orange hues of the autumn foliage in the park below.

"Sit down, Katie," Jenna said.

"I'll stand, thanks, Katie replied.

She stiffly approached the corner of Jenna's desk, waiting for the interrogation to begin. The room was usually immaculate, but it looked as though the crisis had taken its toll on Jenna's tendency toward cleanliness. Folders littered every surface, and there was a stack of newspapers on the floor. On top lay that morning's edition of the _Financial Times_ with the ugly pronouncement _Fitch woes continue amid bribery probe_ printed in bold letters across the centre of the page. Katie shifted the _Times_ to the side, revealing four other newspapers with similar ominous headlines.

"How has your summer been?" Jenna asked.

The side of Katie's mouth quirked up cynically. It was the last week of October and apparently Jenna hadn't noticed the months she had invested learning everything she possibly could about Fitch and its distinctly private policies.

"JJ tells me you've been a great help to him on one or two little projects."

If six thousand minipreps counted as doing something scientifically important, which she'd done with the specific intent of wasting her training on something utterly mindless when she physically couldn't read any longer. JJ was sweet to lie and tell her mother otherwise.

"That's wonderful."

"Yeah, Mum."

"The point is, Katie, that I happened to bump into Alan the other day and…we had a chat."

"You phoned him. He told me."

Jenna faltered. "Oh. Then you know what this is about, then?"

"I'm not going back."

"I know you suffered a few setbacks with your dissertation, but think of all your hard work, princess? I talked to a few colleagues at the University of—"

"I'm not going to Birmingham," Katie said again, tired. "I'm just not."

"So you're quitting," Jenna burst out. "Just like that."

"I'm not quitting, Mum."

"What do you call this?"

"Making a commitment to responsible business practices."

"Katie, this is not a commitment to anything responsible."

Closing her eyes, Katie shook her head. "I didn't sabotage my own project. I can't help what happened with the manufacturer."

"We can push the drug through manufacturing if you would just persuade Doug to start the trial earlier!"

Katie sighed wearily. "We can only enrol in the fall. Once the vaccine goes through manufacturing and FDA approval maybe I'll revisit—"

"This is giving up at the finish line. It's—"

"No."

Jenna paced restlessly to and fro across the plush rug in the centre of her office, gesticulating passionately. "—letting me down, letting down your father, letting—"

"_No_."

"—the firm down. This is because of that _girl_, isn't it? You're giving up four years of training because you're confused. How can you have a broken heart if you can't possibly have loved her?"

Sweeping up a blown glass ornament from Jenna's desk, Katie slammed it down again with so much anger it shattered in her hand. Jenna froze, mouth hanging open comically as her eldest daughter swallowed, her eyes brimming equal parts tears and fury. She blinked as though surprised she had done it at all, not appearing to notice she was bleeding, even as she slowly clenched her fingers into a bloody fist. When Katie next spoke, her voice was deadly calm.

"I know you're too stupid to respond to anything but force," Katie said, idly flicking the shards of glass onto the floor in a tinkling cascade, "but I want you to listen very carefully to me. I'm staying at Fitch."

Jenna tenuously took a step forward, recoiling in horror as Katie brandished the _Financial Times_ at her.

"How could you do this?"

"It wasn't—"

"I have done _everything_ you have ever asked of me. Everything. But I will not let you drag our name through the mud any more. If that means I sacrifice three fucking letters behind my name, so be it."

"Katie, your hand."

The wound slashed in a curve from pinky to thumb and as she swung open the door to storm out, over and over she felt the throb of the gash with every beat of her heart. When a white faced Emily took her to A&E it took nine stitches to knit the edges of her flesh back together. Every time the nervous young doctor slipped the needle beneath her skin and muscle she knew she deserved every single one.

_Winter_

A fresh start had been the false promise afforded her when she sailed into London like a sword-wielding crusader, but it turned out to be neither fresh nor a start. Katie was moving backward, trapped in the gilded cage of her palatial office, the lights of the city bright points on the night horizon. Exhausted, she rubbed her eyes. She shut one eye and then switched, trying to make out whether or not the outlines of the objects in the corridor _were_ in fact slightly fuzzy or if she was losing the plot. No, they were definitely a bit blurry, but whether she was actually losing her eyesight or if she just seriously needed to sleep she couldn't tell. Glasses. Wouldn't that be brilliant? Another item to add to her growing list of work related physical ailments. Stretching, she closed the financial portion of the massive corporate partnership proposal and wandered out to procure a coffee.

Research and Development had a newly renovated workspace, designed with an open layout that was supposed to increase productivity by some precise percentage that Katie didn't recall. Too bad the architects hadn't been bright enough to include something vaguely resembling a break room so the whole team didn't have to go up to legal if they wanted so much as a drink of water. The omission irritated all of them, solicitors and scientists alike. Most of the lights were off, and Katie walked through the quiet of the department with slow, practised movements. There was a Keurig, an espresso machine, a proper fucking steam wand, really anything she could have asked for, but lately all she seemed to want was the cheap drip variety. She associated long nights with the thin comfort of it, drinking it black until her stomach ached with its acidity.

As she approached legal, however, the roasted aroma of something strong and smooth hung in the air. There was a hot carafe of coffee sitting on one of the tables, but there didn't seem to be anyone about. Katie scanned the empty room, eventually shrugging and deciding to get out a cup and avail herself of her good luck. Unfortunately, the moment she lifted a cup down from the cupboard shelf was the exact moment at which she discovered she wasn't alone.

"Why are you still here?" Emily asked.

Katie jumped, flinging a hand out to catch her balance. "Jesus Christ, Emily!"

"I've been sat here since you came up."

"Are you _trying_ to give me a bloody heart attack?"

"It's part of her clever scheme to move up the line of succession," a disembodied voice chimed in. "But, alas. Her assassination attempt was foiled by your superb cardiovascular health."

"Hello, Naomi." Katie frowned, because she and Emily were the only ones there. "Where the fuck are you?"

"Liberia, thanks for asking."

Katie finally ascertained that Naomi's responses were emerging from Emily's mobile, which lay on the table. Casting a sympathetic glance at her sister, Katie squeezed her arm and sat down beside her.

"Katie, now you're here, maybe you can talk some sense into her," Naomi said.

"Are you…asking for my help?" said Katie. "I think I've died and like, gone to an alternate universe."

"Jenna made you Senior Vice President of Deflowering Virgins or something, didn't she?"

Katie rolled her eyes, not caring that Naomi couldn't see her. "Ugh. Your wit never ceases to amaze me."

"Congratulations on that, by the way."

"It's a completely empty title."

"Then make it mean something."

The twins exchanged a look, Katie having been acquainted with the thrust of Naomi's argument through Emily. Katie _was _Vice President of Vaccine Development, a post she had initially felt miserably under qualified for, until she realised how just how little it meant.

"We need a vaccine, Fitches," Naomi said.

"Yeah, I know," said Katie.

"Then do something about it!"

"With what budget? We've only touched five vaccines in ten years."

"Five…in _ten _years?"

Katie laughed. "Why invest in a vaccine when a cancer drug will make you twenty times the money?"

A long pause ensued. "I understand how this works, Katie. I know you don't personally set your research budgets, but you need to try."

"So we can send an untested formulation to a vulnerable population? A fucking fast and free toxicity study? No. I won't do it."

"People are dying. Everyone is terrified."

"Then don't ask me to be the one that kills them."

Scoffing, Naomi sounded as though she had moved away from her phone. "Don't worry. Your concern for Fitch's shit reputation is already doing a splendid job."

"Naoms," Emily said warningly. "That's not fair."

"Whatever, Emily," said Naomi. "You come down here for five minutes and see if you're still whistling the same tune after."

"Naomi—"

Emily's phone lit up as Naomi severed the connection, the time luminous over Naomi's photo.

"I love you, too," Emily said bitterly.

"Shit," Katie murmured. "Look, I didn't—"

"It's not your fault." Scrubbing at her face, Emily sniffed. "She's just being a fucking bitch, as per usual."

Katie frowned. "Is everything…okay? You know, between you two?"

"Fine."

"That was convincing."

"Yeah, well, I'm knackered."

Katie slumped in her chair as Emily gathered her things from her office. When she returned she only had her shoulder bag, and yet Katie knew Emily's laptop housed a massive quantity of contracts and disputes she had yet to address. Evidently neither of the twins was sleeping much anymore, and all at once the thought of it worried her. She hated the prospect that Emily might be trading her happiness in the desperate attempt to corral the corruption around her, but in the same stroke, she respected her sister for her strength. It took a powerful sort of mettle to defend Katie's reticence against Naomi, the woman Emily loved. Before she could say anything, Emily slid a slip of paper in front of Katie.

"Fiona says this bloke named Adam keeps calling for you," Emily said.

"Fuck's sake," Katie muttered.

"She has enough work without being your personal answering service."

"I didn't _ask_ him to phone up."

"Just…watch yourself, Katie. I know it hasn't been easy, but sooner or later you need to talk about it. Trying to move on like this is—"

"How many fucking times do I have to say no?"

Emily nodded darkly, and was halfway to the lift by the time Katie had humbled herself enough to apologise.

"Emily," Katie called.

Gazing over the half partitions with a burdened resignation, Emily sighed. "What is it?"

"She loves you, yeah?"

Emily smiled wanly. "Yeah."

Long after Emily had gone, Katie got to her feet and trotted back to her own office, considerations of caffeine forgotten. There were two things she needed to do. First, write a strongly worded email to Naomi Campbell, making it clear to the meanest intelligence that if she didn't get her priorities in line with regard to Emily there would be hell to pay. Second, to prepare a pitch on the partnership proposal from Avartis for the board, because then they might all get what they wanted.

_Spring_

When they made _The Economist _Jenna demanded the relatively short story be immortalised for all eternity on the press board in the atrium. Emily had the misfortune to learn of this decision as it was happening, sauntering in on a Tuesday to discover some woman from public relations attaching the pages to the wall. Worse still the bloody photo they'd used was Katie's official company portrait, who had been so miserable when it was taken the previous fall her smile had been as plastic and fake as most of the article. The entire set up gave the entirely false impression that the firm had done something new and revolutionary. All they had done in reality was be remarkably un-cunty. So un-cunty that they were in danger of doing something that—_gasp_—might be misconstrued as decent. And so it came to be that three months of Katie's best effort had somehow evolved into Jenna grasping at any potential opportunity to launder Fitch's dirty image. Annoyed, Emily gripped her case more securely and stalked to the lift bank where Katie happened to be waiting as well.

"Did you see that bollocks?" Katie said as they stepped into the lift.

"It's not so bad," Emily encouraged.

"It's the stuff of fucking nightmares. Every day I'll come to work and I'll have to be judged by that."

"You should be proud."

Katie couldn't be proud of orchestrating the deal with Avartis. The text praised her as the "architect" of a new ten-year vaccine development collaboration that guaranteed the investors at least a little money. Architect. Her entire role had been persuading the board to say yes.

"They could at least have used a different picture," Katie bitched. "I look like fucking death in that one."

Emily grimaced as the doors slid open and they walked toward their first meeting. "That photographer. I actually wanted to strangle him. What did he keep saying?"

"Fierce."

Emily burst out laughing. "Oh my God, I can't believe I forgot that." The twins made faux cat clawing motions at one another. "Who _says_ that?"

"Mum."

Ahead, Michael sat fielding phone inquiries at the upper reception area, having come down to mingle with the commoners while Jenna was away. He grinned as he saw Katie. Half rising, he punched a small button on his console and the innumerable flashing lights flashed on ineffectively as the remaining calls went unanswered.

"The woman of the hour," he said fondly with a European style cheek kiss.

"Has it been like that since yesterday?" Katie asked.

"Loads of people seem interested in the contract with Avartis and what it means for an Ebola vaccine."

"Don't suppose you could just call them all cunts and have done."

Michael gaped at her for a moment, then laughed. "It would be faster. Though with my luck the first one would be Sir Michael Rawlins."

There was a time when that reference would have been lost on her, but the era of blissful ignorance was long past. She knew very well who Professor Sir Michael Rawlins was, president of the Royal Society of Medicine, former chairman of the National Institutes of Health and Clinical Excellence, and most recently rumoured to be the next chair of the Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency. The minutiae, all the detail she had committed to memory obscuring her vision. She was beginning to wonder if someday she would stop seeing the forest for the trees. Jenna, she suspected, had the opposite problem, unable to see anything smaller in scale than a bloody biome.

Winking, Michael said, "Anyway, I see I'm keeping you from something very important."

He pointed toward their meeting, where Fiona blocked the doorway to the conference room, cradling a large bunch of flowers in one arm and Emily's post and morning messages in the other. The bouquet consisted of some twenty stargazer lilies encircled by cellowrap. At close proximity their potent fragrance was almost overwhelming.

"Katie!" the little ginger squealed excitedly. "These just got delivered for you."

"Do you know who sent them?" Katie asked.

"No, but there's a card."

Eyebrows shooting up, Katie leaned over and plucked the envelope from amongst the pink blossoms while Emily flicked through her post.

"Ooh, are they from Adam?" said Fiona.

"Like you have to ask who they're from," Emily said acidly.

"Whose side are you on?" Katie handed the card back to Fiona.

"Yours. I always have been."

Katie sneered. "You just can't be happy for me, can you?"

"Not about this. It's not just unhealthy, it's…kind of fucked."

"You're just jealous."

Both sisters had significant practise trading barbs, but conjuring the shadow of that particular ghost given circumstances fumed with subtle malice. Less than six feet away, Fiona glanced apprehensively from Emily to Katie and back again.

"I'll go…put these in some water, shall I?" she said.

"I'll go with you," Emily said, though her eyes were still locked on Katie. "There's something I need from my desk."

"I can get it."

"No, I'll go myself."

A minute later they were both in Emily's office, the younger twin surprising her assistant by shutting the door.

"You sent down the accept list for the internship program yesterday, yeah?"

Fiona nodded. "I gave them to Claire yesterday afternoon."

Emily took a deep breath, producing a folder from the drawer. She held it for a long time, her expression conflicted as she pressed clammy fingertips into the blue tagboard. Finally, she swallowed and gave it to Fiona.

"I want this one to be part of that hiring cycle," Emily said. "It has to stay quiet. Can you do that?"

"Discretion is the better part of valour," Fiona replied, fighting the urge to throw back the front leaf to see who and what it was about.

"She's an American. So she'll need an official letter of support from Fitch for the Home Office and arranged lodging. And…an American Sign Language interpreter."

Fiona didn't flinch. "I'll see that it happens."

Closing her eyes, Emily nodded briskly, but the flat block print of the handwritten letters on the tab of the folder seemed tattooed on her eyelids.

_Stonem, Elizabeth A._

+o+o

It was how she ended up at Fitch.

Which turned out to be the most painful year of her life.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: All right, that's all you get for a bit**.

PS. Lonewolfcub, I finally had to stop and write to you personally because you've been a really loyal reviewer pretty much since I started posting. I just wanted to say thanks! I hope I do a good job.


	3. Chapter 2: Half-life

**A/N: Fear not, Keffy fans. You are not forgotten. Thanks as always to you wonderful readers, especially those that take the time to write to me. Really, you guys keep me writing!  
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* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**Half-life: **The time required for half of a substance such as a radioactive isotope or a drug to decay or be excreted

"Seventy-eight….seventy-nine…"

Tony shifted his shoulders, gazing between two older men in font of him in the queue as the positively geriatric Mrs. Olsen counted out her second dollar worth of pennies. In Minneapolis or Duluth, there probably would have been a riot already since there was only the one till and Mrs. Olsen had been impeding progress for quite some time. A twangy country song warbled on plaintively into the storefront from the dusty radio on the back shelf. The two men ahead had started muttering to one another about five minutes before and as their conversation increased in volume from hisses to stage whispers, Tony smirked. Bustle was a way of life in the city, but in Grand Marais what was the rush? It wasn't like any of them had anywhere particularly pressing to be. Maybe the men thought they did. Cocking his head, he took stock of their desired purchases: monofilament, Rapalas, and two pounds of ribbon leeches if he was guessing on weight. They had come for the fishing opener, and were no doubt wishing Mrs. Olsen a painful death for every second she delayed their departure to walleye and open water.

"…ninety," declared Mrs. Olsen. "Is that right, dear?"

Behind the counter, Pandora smiled indulgently while she swept the pennies into her left palm. "You betcha."

"Have a wonderful day, dear."

The old lady tottered away, making way for the disgruntled fishermen, one of which smacked down his burden of bait so hard on the scale the bag split wide open. Sighing, Tony watched impassively as a half gallon of cold water and wriggling leeches inundated the worn oak of the countertop. Pandora jerked away, dancing around to shield her shoes from the worst of the flood, nearly colliding with Mrs. Olsen who had returned amid the excitement.

"Holy buckets!" said Pandora.

"What'd you go and do that for?" one of the men exclaimed.

"She didn't do anything!" said Mrs. Olsen.

Something similar had once happened when he and Effy had worked up at the family lodge. Without batting an eyelid, Effy calmly stood in the puddle of leeches to punch the total into the cash register and demanded (in writing) the ten dollars she was owed. Tony doubted Pandora would be able to channel her best friend's easy nonchalance on that occasion, especially while Mrs. Olsen looked to be in danger of clubbing one of the sportsmen with her handbag.

Patience ebbing, Tony said, "Okay, it was just an accident. How about you gentlemen go get Ben to ladle you out another pound while Panda and I clean up the mess?" He brushed a clinging leech from the shirt of the fattest of the fishermen. "The fish are waiting."

One of the men started to protest, but was silenced as Tony drew himself up to his full height. He crossed his arms over his chest, blue eyes following their progress to the startled high school kid who manned the bait aquariums. They didn't bother coming back, choosing instead to stuff two fifty dollar bills into Ben's top pocket. Close enough. Pandora scowled, carefully picking up one leech before dropping it again with a squeal.

"I'd help you, dear," Mrs. Olsen said as she trailed toward the door, "but I'd never get up again."

"Don't worry," said Tony. "I'll do it." He knelt down, shovelling fistfuls of the slimy annelids off the linoleum flooring into the remains of the torn bag.

"I hate leeches," moaned Pandora.

"They're just ribbon leeches."

"They're not _just_ anything. They're black and gooey and horrible." Pandora shuddered.

He dangled one dangerously close to her face, laughing when she screamed and shot around the counter again.

"I hate you."

"You're in good company."

"What did you come in for anyway?"

Glancing up at the rundown interior of Spur Hardware, he smiled. "The incredible décor."

"Does Anthea need anything?"

"No. I was actually just trying to pay for my gas. I'm starting to think I should have stolen it."

Pandora grimaced, abandoning the leech retrieval to him entirely. "How…are things?"

"I think you know they answer to that as well as I do."

"I…"

Scrambling, Pandora slipped on the slick lino as she ducked behind the counter. When she re-emerged, she cradled a glossy magazine in her arms. Biting her lip, she held it out to him. Tony sat back on his heels, wiping his wet hands on the fabric of his jeans so he could accept it from her. He raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised that she'd taken a sudden interest in the state of global economics. The glib and flippant title _What the world needs now_ stretched across the cover below the rectangular red header.

"Has Mister Harding started stocking _The Economist_?" he asked dubiously.

She shook her head, briefly snatching the magazine from him to rifle to another page. Within two seconds, he saw what she was trying to show him: an article about Fitch Pharmaceutical's ten year vaccine development deal with the biotechnology giant Avartis. The content of the agreement was secondary, however, unimportant beside the photograph over which Pandora's forefinger hovered anxiously. It had been almost a year since he'd last seen her, in the near dark outside Hennepin County lockup, but he still recognised her immediately. Accepting the copy of _The Economist_, Tony exhaled slowly. Katie Fitch's unhealthily thin face smiled up at him from the shining page, her smile somehow simultaneously genuine and hollow; a grin through clenched teeth.

"Pandora…" he said.

"It might help." She shrugged.

"I think…I think that ship has sailed."

"No, it hasn't! You sent Emily her application."

He pushed off the floor, rubbing the back of his neck as he dropped the magazine onto a dry stretch of counter. "If Effy doesn't want to go, it's her right to say no."

"Emily said—"

"It doesn't matter what she said. They've moved on."

Jabbing her finger at Katie's photo, Pandora looked him in the face. "Katie loves her."

"Katie _loved_ her. Past fucking tense."

"You don't know that."

"Even if I did, I can't make Effy change her mind, and I'm starting to think she's right. They've done enough damage to each other."

Pandora's expression hardened, words unnecessary because trying to argue with the resistance that had been growing in the older Stonem was a senseless endeavour. Silent but unconvinced, her gaze wandered to the floor, so concentrated she jumped when the bell above the door jingled to announce an incoming customer.

"I should go," Tony said. "Could you put the gas on our tab? Effy's waiting for me."

He didn't wait for her reply, heading for the exit immediately. He did advise Ben on his way out that Pandora could use a little help with a mop and a bucket, but he was legitimately late in collecting his sister from her last visit with her parole officer. Not to mention spending another instant thinking about Effy's fascination with setting metaphorical and literal fire to everything around her would absolutely make his head explode. Pausing on the pavement, he looked up and down the drizzly length of US Highway 61. The road was mostly empty save for a few cars passing by. He fished in his pocket for his keys, wrenching open the rusty door of the old Ford pickup and hopping up. The buzzing of his phone on the dash caught his attention. Effy's text glowed into the darkness of the cloudy afternoon.

_done_

She'd given a year of her life to the particulars of the Minnesotan legal system, so naturally all she had to say at the advent of its conclusion was "done." Her conviction hadn't bothered her in the least. She'd indifferently plead guilty to the charges laid against her after she destroyed the marina office in Saint Paul. In fact, he was positive she would have done it again for how powerfully she had felt the anger and regret of Cook's interference. Still, strange, that she did not resent Cook more now that it was over. With some difficulty Tony persuaded the engine of the truck to turn over, revving it a few times to reassure himself that the pistons would keep chugging long enough to get him the forty miles home after he fetched up Effy from the tiny Cook County sheriff's office. They had dozens of Duluth packs to load and customers to send into the Boundary Waters over the next few days. The fishing opener was always a busy time for any outfitter.

The building was new construction, breezeblock walls and an ostensibly tin roof that was more likely plastic dipped galvanized steel. For whatever reason they had razed the oversized lot to the ground before raising the office on the property. A few gangly oak saplings bent toward the browned grass as they capitulated to the wind. Collar of her leather jacket flipped against the wind, Effy stood leaning on the stonewall that held the earth of the hill back from the street. A lit cigarette rested between her fingers, a faint plume of smoke curled into the damp breeze as she stared at its glowing tip. She turned her head as she caught sight of the truck, flicking the mostly untouched cigarette onto the gravel and crushing its tiny ember beneath the ball of her shoe. Slowing to a stop, Tony let the truck idle. She climbed into the cab, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear while she slammed the door so it would latch.

[Home?] he asked.

She shook her head, reaching inside her jacket to retrieve a slip of paper.

[What's that?]

After a moment's hesitation, she gave him the paper, chin lifted in expectant defiance. He read quickly, eyes narrowing all the while.

[It's just an appointment,] she signed coolly.

[No, it's not,] he said. [They wanted that, not you.]

Expression blank, she sank into her seat. [They wanted what was best for me.]

[It wasn't your fault.]

[Will you take me or not?]

He sighed, his hurt for her brimming as he shifted from neutral to first gear. Her would take her. Foot on the brake, he paused, turning to ask her one last thing.

[How does it feel to be free?] he signed.

Effy smirked. [Are we ever really free?]

He had to admit that she had a point, that the end of her parole did not spell the difference between imprisonment and choice, because what was the last thing she had truly _chosen_ to do? She'd chosen to break Katie Fitch's heart, and without irony, her own in the process. It made up his mind, and he pushed the memory of Katie's photo in _The Economist_ deep into the recesses of his brain. He shouldn't and wouldn't convince her to go to London. Respecting the wisdom of her resolutions was what he'd always offered, even if he didn't understand her reasons. He would take her to Duluth, though, simply because it wasn't his decision, because it had never been anyone's decision but her own.

+o+o

Emily narrowed her eyes curiously as she sized up her eleven o'clock meeting. A short, skinny girl in ripped jeans perched on the corner of Fiona's desk, legs swinging. Her natural hair colour might have been anything, because at the moment it was a bright, vibrant blue.

"Fancy place you've got here," the girl said, gazing around legal with interest. "You sue lots of people or something?"

Stepping forward, Fiona primly cleared her throat, obviously annoyed by having to babysit the stranger for the last three quarters of a fucking hour. Or maybe it was the girl's egregious lack of dress sense for something as important as a job interview, Emily couldn't tell. Fiona edged a few papers into Emily's slack grip, the younger twin accepting the thin stack of credentials with a nod.

"Hello, I'm Emily Fitch," Emily said. "And you are…?"

"This is—" Fiona began.

The girl hopped down, interrupting Fiona as she interjected, "I can do it! I know my own sodding name." She jerked her thumb at her own chest. "Addison Weekes."

"She's one of the applicants for the interpreting post."

By one of the applicants, Fiona actually meant the _only_ applicant. Either there was a roaring trade in London for American Sign Language interpreters or there just weren't that many of them to start with.

"I can take it from here," said Emily.

"You're sure you don't need me?" Fiona asked.

"I think I can handle it."

The little ginger sniffed, eyeing the tiny blue haired demon dubiously. "Call if you need anything."

While Fiona returned to her desk, Emily led Addison into her office, motioning for the girl to sit in the chair closest to the door. Glancing down at Addison's resume, Emily read down the list of educational facilities and previous employers. She had taken A levels in physics and French of all things, good marks too, but it seemed she'd been out of work for some months.

"So…you're from Derbyshire, I take it?" said Emily.

"Yeah, and you're from London," Addison said, comparing their accents. "What's it to you? Don't you want to see if I can actually sign and stuff? Because I can."

"I'm just trying to get a feel for your qualifications."

Lounging and settling her foot on her opposite knee, Addison scoffed. "Lemme save you some time. My mum was deaf. From America, yeah? I've been interpreting since I was old enough to talk. ASL, BSL, whatever you need done, I know them both."

"Here's the situation." Emily crossed her arms. "There's a good chance that I'm going to have a new member of staff. She's an American, very clever, but severely hard of hearing."

"So she hears a bit."

"As I understand it, yes. She speechreads but she needs someone to interpret during meetings and events and such. How fast are you? Good enough to interpret on the fly?"

"What? Aren't you going to test me out?"

Taken aback, Emily faltered. "Well, I can't sign actually."

Addison burst out laughing. "Oh, this is brilliant. I could be absolute shit and you'd never know the difference."

"I…" Seized by inspiration, Emily pointed at her. "Just give me two seconds."

Whipping out her phone, she FaceTimed the first appropriate person she could think of. Soon (and luckily) the grainy image of Tony Stonem's face looked up at her from the screen. Judging by the state of his tousled dark hair, he hadn't been up long. Shit, she hadn't thought of that.

"Um, sorry, Tony," Emily said. "I forgot it's so early there."

"What can I do for you?" Tony asked through a massive yawn.

"I'm interviewing candidates—"

"Just give me the bloody thing," said Addison impatiently, beckoning with her outstretched hand.

Surprised, Emily gave it to her. Addison balanced the mobile on her knee, swiftly signing to Tony in a flurry of movement that seemed mostly nonsensical to Emily's untrained eye. Perhaps two or three minutes passed in complete silence save for the rustle of Addison's shirt, before she cracked a smile and gave Tony the finger as she muttered, "Wanker." She waved the phone at Emily, signalling the end of her evaluation with him.

"She can sign," Tony informed Emily when she'd taken it back. He ran a hand through his hair. "Good luck with that."

"Cheers, Tony."

"Call a little later next time."

A shaft of light illuminated his face and he squinted, turning his head toward it before severing the connection. Pocketing her phone again, Emily regarded the tiny interpreter carefully.

"Tony says you can sign," she said.

"That's what I said, innit?" Addison grumbled. "I'm lots of things, but I'm not a liar."

Emily frowned. "You've been unemployed for a while. What happened there?"

"Got sacked from my last job, didn't I? My boss was a bloody cunt, though, so good riddance."

"This job will be very demanding of your time. You'll need to be willing to travel, willing to work odd hours, and willing to do mundane things outside of Fitch. I need to know that you'll be consistent enough to fulfil those roles, whatever and whenever you're asked."

"You treat me right and pay me enough, I'll do whatever you like. You have my word on that."

Oddly enough, Emily believed her. "Right. I'll take you down to HR, then."

"What? So I got the job or whatever?"

Emily shrugged. "Assuming you agree to the salary and benefits, yes."

"I think we're going to get on grand, yeah?"

Addison stood up, a not quite smile tugging at one side of her mouth as she followed Emily into legal's main work area. Casting dark looks at Emily's office door, sat Fiona, who sprang up at the sight of her boss.

"Should I show Miss Weekes out?" Fiona asked.

Shaking her head, Emily said, "No, I'm taking her down to HR."

"But…there are other applicants still to be seen."

"Are there?"

"Well, no, but…" Lowering her voice, she hissed in Emily's ear, "She's going to be a liability!"

"Good thing I'm a lawyer then, isn't it?"

"But…"

Fiona anxiously trailed off, her argument dying feebly. Faintly amused by her discomfort, Emily patted her shoulder and led Addison toward the lifts.

"Is she always like that?" asked Addison.

"How do you mean?"

"Like she's got a bloody big stick up her arse?"

Raising an eyebrow, Emily felt a prickle of defensive pride on behalf of her assistant. "If you don't like Fiona, I can tell you now this isn't going to work out."

"I never said I didn't like her, yeah? She's cute like, but only when she's not talking."

Emily blinked. Well, she hadn't been expecting _that_ comment. The interview had officially entered the ranks of the most outrageous she'd ever performed.

"I don't think you're Fiona's type," said Emily.

"Too weird?"

"Too female."

Addison grinned. "I like a challenge."

+o+o

How she had ended up shafted with the task of preparing Fitch for the incoming interns, Katie had no idea. Wasn't that the bloody job of someone from human resources and _not_ the Vice President of Vaccine Development? Especially not now she was coming off her success with Avartis. Or maybe that was exactly why someone had managed to saddle her with coordinating the introduction of the little bast—_interns_ to the firm. Katie tapped her pencil on the corner of her desk, mentally ticking off the hours in the day to ensure she hadn't left them with some sort of large gap in the middle or something. She had the first four weeks, then it was more or less up to the individual departments to keep them occupied until the conclusion of the programme. It might be a long year. A soft knock on the doorjamb drew her attention from her makeshift timetable toward Fiona where she stood beside an enormous potted palm that was threatening to swallow up a fourth of her floor space.

"Katie, you're going to be late if you don't leave now," Fiona said.

Damn it all to hell. Katie had completely forgotten about the dinner she was supposed to be having with her former mentor Alan while he was down from Birmingham.

"What?" Katie muttered, turning her wrist to look at her watch. "Is that the time?"

"It's half six."

"Shit, I was supposed to go home to change."

"Emily just phoned to say she and Naomi are on their way. Haven't you been checking your messages?"

Haphazardly stuffing random items into her bag, Katie turned a mildly crazed eye on her sister's assistant. "Obviously not." She stopped. "Why are you still here?"

"I was finishing a few things."

"Didn't you just say it was half six? Go home."

Laughing, Fiona demurred. "You pay wicked overtime."

"Do I?"

"Well, you and Emily anyway. It's no trouble, really."

A few more seconds of harried searching ensued before Fiona seemed to take pity on the elder twin, helping her organise her desk and shrug on her coat in preparation to meet Naomi in the lobby. The next thing Katie knew she was being bodily pushed in the direction of the lifts, with a cup of cold tea in one hand and a small muffin in the other.

"What the fuck, Fiona?" Katie said, nonplussed.

"Did you want to leave those here?" Fiona asked.

"Where did you get these?"

"They were on your desk."

Katie grimaced. Apparently Emily was beginning to resort to guerrilla tactics in her war to persuade Katie to eat more regularly. The constant reminders hadn't been sufficient; now she could expect to find foodstuffs hidden among her ballpoints. Slightly chagrined, Katie stepped into the lift.

"Try to have a good time, Katie!" Fiona called as the doors slid shut.

Katie rode down at an agitated bounce, the muffin balanced on her right palm. Twice she glanced at it before curling her lip in annoyance. Bad enough that Emily had become a one woman catering service, but that she had chosen a muffin of all things? A loud ding announced she had reached the ground floor, and she stalked out of the compartment with her arm held out as though that would actually separate her skin from the waxy paper. That was how she strode from the building into the evening air toward Emily's car, Naomi leaning casually against the passenger door.

"I thought you'd gone off _muffin_," said Naomi.

Katie rolled her eyes as she unceremoniously hurled the offending article into the hedge that bordered the footpath. Lips curving in cruel amusement, Naomi got back into the car while Katie slid into the backseat. Their eyes met in the rear view mirror as Emily pulled away from the kerb.

"Point taken," Naomi said.

"Stay out of my office, Emily," said Katie, completely ignoring the blonde. Her tone had all the hallmarks of a ten year old demarcating the mine/yours borders of a household turf battle.

Emily frowned. "Sorry?"

"Stay out of my office."

"I haven't been _in _your office."

"It's—it's not fair. Okay?"

"Okay. I will…continue to stay out of your office."

Glancing at Naomi, Emily shrugged in confusion. They finished the drive to the restaurant in silence.

+o+o

By the time they arrived, Alan had already been seated, the chubby, bald professor sitting at a table for five in the corner of room with JJ. The curly haired scientist laughed at something Alan said, the two sharing a spot of conversation while they waited for the women. Alan rose with a face-splitting grin as soon as he saw Katie, bending down to embrace her before greeting Emily and Naomi.

"It's so good to see you all again," he gushed, retaking his seat. "Wine anyone?"

"God, yes, please," said Naomi, sliding her glass toward Alan's decanter.

A slender wrinkle formed between Emily's eyebrows, but she didn't say anything, sitting down quietly. Alan filled the glasses, distributing the lush red between the five of them.

"Katie, did you get that report I sent you?" JJ asked.

Nodding, Katie took a sip of wine. "I did. Thanks, Jay. I meant to ask you though—"

"Now, now," interrupted Alan sternly. "I don't want any more shop talk for a bit. Let's pretend we like each other, hmm?"

"If we have to."

"Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

Katie cut her eyes first to Emily and then to JJ. "Who told you I had a boyfriend?"

"A little bird. How did you meet?"

"He's a teacher," Katie replied evasively before flatly changing the topic.

The meal continued, Emily and JJ making light talk with Alan while they ordered and waited for their food. Naomi merely reclined, drinking far more than anyone else and making no effort to join the conversation.

"How long were you in Sierra Leone?" Alan asked finally, trying to draw her in.

"Three months," Naomi said. "I've only just got back."

"The news coverage of the situation is dreadful," said JJ.

Naomi chuckled, downing the rest of her glass in one. "The news coverage? You want to talk to _me_ about the fucking news coverage?"

"I—I just—"

"Naomi, calm down," Emily growled.

"No, I will not calm down. I'm sat here with representatives from one of the largest pharmaceutical firms in the world while you sit by and do nothing? While you want to discuss over salmon and wine what you watched on fucking BBC last night?" She lurched up from her chair, tossing her napkin onto her mostly untouched plate amid stares from the other patrons.

"Naomi, please."

Snorting, Naomi stormed away, leaving the restaurant altogether. Emily stayed frozen beside Katie, a blotchy red creeping up her neck as she fought off tears.

"I'm sorry, Emily," JJ said meekly.

"No. I—I'm sorry," Emily said. "Will you excuse me if I don't stay? I think I need to go home."

Katie squeezed her hand. "Do you want me to go with, Ems?"

"No, I'm fine. Really."

Knowing better than to try to argue, Katie let her go. Her eyes followed her sister's narrow frame a she exited, head held high in spite of the hum of shocked whispers. She'd go round to the flat in the morning and try to sort things through with Emily.

"Trouble in paradise?" said Alan.

Katie sighed, not knowing how to respond. What the fuck was Campbell's problem? While the issue with available prophylactics and treatments for Ebola was a valid one, Naomi wasn't stupid. She _knew_ that testing and development took years. Fitch's most promising vaccine was still months from a safety trial, but despite delays their effort on it could hardly be qualified as "nothing." Naomi's blind insistence on instant action was nothing short of idiotic. Not to mention Katie knew from experience long separations were fucking trying, but Naomi's extended stints in stricken African nations over the course of the past year were not the only thing wearing heavily on Emily's relationship with her girlfriend. It couldn't be as simple as that. The rest of dinner passed sombrely, and at the conclusion Alan walked Katie to the street while one of the valets tried to hail her a taxi.

"It's a shame your dad couldn't make it tonight," said Alan.

Katie squirmed, hating that she and Emily excluded Rob by necessity. "He would have done I'm sure, but, you know how it's been with my mum."

"Unfortunately I do."

"He'd have gotten the third degree from her. She doesn't understand why I haven't come back to finish my doctorate."

Circumspect, Alan slipped his hands into his pockets. "What you're doing is important, Katie. I know the decision was difficult."

"Sometimes I feel like I made the wrong choice."

"Time will tell, but if you ever want to complete your thesis, know you will always have a place with me."

"Thank you, Alan."

"Not at all."

He hugged her one last time before bundling her into the idling taxi, smiling and waving fondly from the pavement as she asked the driver to take her Brentford. She could have gone home to her house in Chelsea. She could have gone to see Emily. Hell, she could have even gone to Adam's, but instead she went back to Fitch. It was the only place she felt like she belonged anymore, drowning in a sea of projects and proposals to distract her from the uncertainty that came to her on the edges of sleep and robbed her of purpose. She'd trod the course from the atrium to her office so often and knew it so well, she could have made the journey in complete darkness. Instead, the motion sensors went off as though in time to the clicking of her heels, lighting the next section of her path just before she reached it. Dropping her bag beside her bin, Katie settled into another long night of work, unable to resent or regret the necessity of it. She fell asleep sometime after the horizon had begun to brighten, her head cradled on her arms, inches from the keyboard of her MacBook.

That was how she found Katie, the next morning, asleep at her desk. She gently brushed the hair from Katie's face, lingering until her eyelids flickered. Watching until she couldn't anymore because Katie sat up with a start, her brown eyes wide and puzzled as she realised she was looking at someone she had not seen in a very long time.


	4. Chapter 3: Chemotaxis

**Chapter 3**

**Chemotaxis: **A phenomenon where cells migrate to a certain region following a gradient of an attractant from an area of lower concentration to one of higher concentration

Katie rubbed furiously at her eyes, willing her vision to resolve into something remotely resembling focus. She had to be dreaming, because she thought she'd just fucking seen—what? Squinting up into the fluorescent lighting, Katie relaxed slightly as Emily touched her arm.

"Emily?" Katie croaked.

"Were you here all night again?" asked Emily.

"I—I swear to God I just fucking saw—but it couldn't have…" Knowing it was impossible, her hands fell away from her face as she registered a familiar person standing beside her sister. "Jen?"

"Don't 'Jen' me, Katie Fitch," the tall blonde bitched. "You don't write, you don't call. You forget to pick me up at the airport!"

"What?"

A trickle of guilty remembrance washed into Katie's consciousness; she'd utterly forgotten that the American was coming and that she had, in fact, been due to collect her at Heathrow at eight AM.

"Oh my God," Katie groaned. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, you should be!" Jen replied. "I was frightened and alone in a country where I don't even speak the same language and—"

"The fuck are you on about? You're in England, the place where the English comes from."

"History has no bearing on this discussion."

Snickering, Emily said, "Don't take it personally. Katie forgot about Alan yesterday as well."

Jen's jaw dropped. "How could you! That man is like your science dad."

"For fuck's sake," Katie said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, forget it. Come here, you."

The next thing Katie knew she was being smashed in a bearhug, her left ear crushed somewhere in the region of Jen's solar plexus like she was listening for signs of life from an unborn child. Then she was just as quickly released, rolling backward slightly in her chair as she gawked at Jen with a shocked expression on her face.

"Seriously, though, Fitch," Jen said like nothing had happened. "It's lucky I had Emily's number. Otherwise, who knows where I'd be right now." Producing a tube map from nowhere, she jabbed her finger at one of the stations. "Like Clapham Common. Where the hell is that?"

"Are you or are you not holding a _map_?" asked Katie grouchily as she stretched her shoulders.

"Psshhh. Only lesbians can read maps. Emily, where is this?"

"South of Battersea, not that you know where Battersea is either," said Emily as she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, that's not a proper map, is it? All you can tell from that is that it's in that middle bit south of the river."

"Wait, that's supposed to be a river?"

Irritated that all her technology had betrayed her, Katie pushed aside a few errant papers so she could press a button on her phone. Unsurprisingly, it was on 'silent.' A dozen missed calls and messages from both Jen and Emily angrily greeted her, and she quietly turned the thing over in order not to be reprimanded by the sodding notifications any longer.

"Why didn't you just phone here?" Katie asked.

"I assumed you'd go home last night like a normal person," said Emily. "My mistake."

Katie looked at her sister, remembering her pledge to go and look after her in the wake of Naomi's outburst the previous night. Trying to ascertain how Emily was feeling, she opened her mouth to enquire, but Emily was all business and went on before Katie could speak.

"I missed breakfast dealing with this. Jen's probably fucking starving because I know I am. Get something to eat, okay?"

Katie scowled, pushing up from her desk. "Fucking food police."

"Ooh, where are we going?" asked Jen.

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," said Emily. "I've a meeting this morning until noon, but you two should go."

"You will be missed, but we'll bring something back for you."

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

"You feeling up to it, Katie?"

"Aren't you tired?" the older twin complained.

Grinning, Jen hugged her again. "I'm just so excited to see you!"

Katie laughed in spite of herself. "Jesus, let a girl breathe, yeah?"

Gathering her things up and slipping her heels back on, Katie flicked off the light as she started to walk down the corridor with Jen and Emily.

"Sorry to give you such a rude awakening," said Jen.

"I'm glad you woke me actually," Katie confessed. "I was having a fucking nightmare."

"About what?"

"I dreamt that—nothing. It was just a stupid dream."

Katie shook her head again, oblivious to the shadow that emerged from behind the giant palm in the corner of her office.

+o+o

The two ended up at breakfast with Fiona in tow at a smallish restaurant that went by the name of Time situated in a building near Brentford lock. Despite Jen's obvious enthusiasm for being reunited with the Fitches, Katie's mood was considerably more circumspect, like she didn't know quite how to feel about her old friend's presence in London. The distant bassline of a loud rap song reverberated from a car passing on High Street and Katie leaned her cheek on one hand.

"I don't think I've heard that since college," Katie mused. "Whatever happened to Missy Elliot?"

"She lost a lot of weight," said Fiona. "And she's gay, I think."

Jen made an uncertain noise. "I love how our collective knowledge about her has nothing to do with music."

An awkward silence persisted, Jen's features contemplative as Fiona looked at her, Jen looked at Katie, and Katie seemed to look at nothing in particular. From the favourable position of their outside table, they had an excellent view up a length of the River Brent. Above the water, the mirrored silver gleam of the Fitch Pharmaceutical headquarters shone in the morning sun. Katie gazed unseeing into the sky, sunglasses firmly in place to protect her from the reflected shimmer.

"How have things with you been, Jen?" Fiona asked, a tinge of strain in her voice as she tried to kindle the dying embers of their ailing conversation.

Jen reached across the table, retrieving a sugar packet as she replied, "Not bad. How have things been here?"

"Same old. Probably the most interesting thing that's happened is Katie coming back."

Tearing open the sugar, Jen smiled at Fiona. "Conversely, I have been suffering. Shit's been awful without you, Fitch. Lab just isn't the same."

The sound of her name drew Katie back, which had naturally been Jen's intent.

"Doug hasn't gotten another student?" Katie asked.

"We have some new undergrads, but he hasn't gotten anyone to replace you. So mostly it's just me and Pandora."

"How is Pandora?"

"Good. She got a Rhodes actually. She's coming out to Oxford in August."

"Good for her." Katie tilted her head back. "Have you and JJ decided on a timeline for your project, yet?"

Cup halfway to her lips, Jen paused, her tone an uneasy balance of serious and joking. "Trying to get rid of me already?"

"You'd know if I was trying to get rid of you."

"I'd like to think so." She drank a bit of the hot mocha coloured liquid, face hidden behind the ceramic. "I don't know how long this is going to take, but Doug figures if we're going to remanufacture the vaccine anyway, we might as well do it with the best adjuvant we can."

"Yeah."

Katie's phone chimed on the table, and she scooped it up to read the text she'd gotten. A shy smile supplanted the brooding frown she'd sported since leaving Fitch. Biting her lip, she cradled her phone a moment longer, spotting Jen's incredulous look as she laid it down again.

"Yes?" Katie asked aggressively.

"Okay, who the hell was that?" said Jen. "Because that's only the second time you've smiled since I've been here."

"Adam."

"And Adam is…?"

"What? Emily didn't tell you all about him?" Katie's blush mingled with a flush of anger.

"Adam's Katie's boyfriend," Fiona exclaimed, unable to hold it in. "He's dreamy."

Jen choked on her coffee, pounding her chest as she coughed. "I'm sorry. Did you just say dreamy?"

"He is! He looks just like Sam Heughan."

Wrinkling her forehead, Jen scoured her brain for a visual to accompany the name. "I'm drawing a blank here."

A scant five seconds passed and then Fiona was shoving her mobile under Jen's nose, several tiny photos of the aforementioned Mr. Heughan gracing the screen. Jen swept her thumb over the glass, her mild frown transforming into a wide grin of hilarity. Finally she burst out laughing, leaping up from the table to high five Katie.

"You're dating fucking Jamie Fraser from Outlander!" she cried. "Get out of here!"

Katie stared at her like she had just lost her goddamn mind, flinching away from Jen's outstretched palm as though she thought the American were on the verge of striking her. With an annoyed eye roll, Katie timidly high fived her knowing Jen would stand there expectantly for as long as required to get the desired effect. The immediate thrill subsiding, Jen collapsed into her chair beaming beatifically.

"Seriously," Jen said. "You're dating this guy?"

"She's dating a guy that _looks_ like him," Fiona corrected, smug on Katie's behalf. "Adam's way hotter."

"I don't know, he's not exactly luke warm. What's his last name? Do you think I could find a picture of him?"

"Could you not?" Katie interrupted.

Disappointed, Jen returned Fiona's phone to her, consoling herself with a spoonful of beans. Katie drummed her fingers on the edge of the table. Craning her head, she looked over her shoulder trying to flag down the waiter for the check. Apparently Katie'd had enough of attempting to breakfast with the goofy doctor and her sister's personal assistant. For her part, Jen frowned disapprovingly. They'd only had their food ten minutes and Katie total caloric intake had consisted of about two-thirds of a triangle of dry toast and a hundred millilitres of black coffee.

"Hey, slow down," Jen said. "I've still got two sausages and an egg to go over here. And not to go all Jennifer Carter MD on you but you need to eat, Fitch."

"I'm fine," Katie said.

"My medical training disagrees."

Katie, however, was already counting out tenners. Resolute, Jen laid down her flatware. Breakfast was finished.

"Answer this honestly," said Jen. "Since when have I ever put up with your bullshit?"

"What bullshit?" Katie asked.

Sensing shit was about to get serious, Fiona gestured toward the little stone sitting area in the middle of the canal. The assistant pulled her bag up and wandered away across the footbridge to give the two women some privacy.

"Is my being here going to be a problem?" Jen asked directly.

Katie actually looked surprised, eyes widening in confusion. "No."

"You're my friend, Katie, and I haven't seen you in a long time. Issues of whether you accidentally-on-purpose left me at the airport this morning aside, what's going on here?"

"I don't know."

"Look, I understand if seeing me is hard. I realise it might just remind you of...things that happened."

"What did Emily tell you?"

"That you still don't talk about Ef—about Minnesota."

"Is she fucking Voldemort now? You can say her name."

"You first."

Glowering, Katie shook her head. "Why the fuck does everyone insist on treating me like a China fucking doll? I had a girlfriend. We broke up. I got over it."

"Do you mean that, or is that just what you tell people?"

"I moved on and it is frustrating, maddening, that nobody believes me. That no one can be happy for me."

Jen raised her eyebrows. "Did my excitement over Adam seem disingenuous to you?"

"I can't tell anymore. Emily—"

"Hey, this is your life. I don't give a shit what Emily says. What matters to me is what you say, and if you say this is what you want, then that's what I want, too."

Pathetic and vulnerable feeling, Katie swallowed. "Yeah?"

"What's your boy's last name?"

"I…" Katie narrowed her eyes. "If you make one fucking joke about this I will never forgive you."

"I make no promises."

"Abercrombie."

Closing her eyes, Jen struggled to keep a straight face. "For Christ's sake, Katie. Abercrombie?

"I didn't like, choose it."

"Can I call you—"

"No."

"But Katie!"

"Don't even think about it."

+o+o

Receiving her morning messages from Fiona via Phillip was essentially the cherry on the top of a mountain of horrible morning events. Emily stood with her palm flat indicating to him without words that he should simply place the sticky notes in her hand and dispense with trying to read them all out loud to her like she'd suddenly lost the ability to do it herself. Rapidly running out of patience she eventually just snatched them from him, thanking him in an only somewhat sarcastic singsong before she went into her office. She'd hardly gotten the door open when she saw a black shape standing in the dark, silhouetted against the full-length window.

"Jesus Christ!" she swore, heart jumping into her throat as she jerked backward away from the threshold.

The figure turned, and Emily's arms fell slack at her sides, the fold of messages falling from her fingertips and fluttering to the floor. Even with her face mostly shadowed, Effy Stonem was unmistakeable, skinny and tousled and beautiful. Emily hastily swept up her papers from the carpet, scurrying in and shutting the door behind her lest Phillip or someone else who might recognise Effy see the girl standing bold as brass in the middle of her private office. She realised she didn't know what to say. After everything she'd honestly not expected Effy to leave Minnesota, much less turn up unannounced at Fitch headquarters on the same day as Jen Carter. It wasn't until she felt that tentative hesitance in her own reaction (she, the woman who had orchestrated the whole fucking plan) that she thought even for a moment that it had been a bad one. Unforeseen misgivings coloured the edges of her plot. Effy smirked, observably pleased that her conjuring trick like appearance had left the younger twin speechless. She held out her iPad, waiting impassively until Emily took it.

_How did you get in? _ Emily wrote, scrunching her nose at how much like Naomi the phrase rang.

Effy read, and then gave her reply as though it were a foregone conclusion. _i walked _

Apparently Fiona's vigilance had been the only thing holding together Fitch's shoddy security protocols, and with her permanent departure from reception to legal, the system had fallen apart entirely. Effy could have been an activist, an assassin, a fucking terrorist! Emily was going to have a very stern conversation with the private contractor that was supposed to be managing them. She didn't care if G4S was the largest security company in the UK and Ireland, if they lost Fitch Pharmaceutical's contract then it would be a massive blow.

_When did you get here?_ Emily asked.

_fitch or london?_

_London._

Effy shrugged. _a few days ago_

_Where have you been staying?_

_around_

Emily cocked her head, not entirely certain how Katie, the twin with no tolerance for being run around, had ever made headway with Effy in the fucking first place. _I was about to let your interpreter go._

_lucky me_

_I didn't know you were coming._

_neither did i_

Emily didn't understand how Effy could have gotten there without intervention from Fiona, but then she recalled the flight from Minneapolis to Heathrow had been purchased months prior. The ticket wasn't the surprise; the surprise was that Effy had used it at all. Emily instinctually moved toward the door to call for Fiona, but she was at breakfast with Katie. No, Emily could see to it just as well on her own. Anyway, she needed to begin getting accustomed to not having Fiona about quite as much. The prospect daunted her because in less than a year the little ginger had integrated herself so seamlessly into Emily professional life that she frankly didn't know how she'd managed before that. But Katie still refused to hire a proper assistant, nevermind the minor detail that she had been in effect sharing Fiona with Emily for some time, and now it was just a matter of transitioning Fiona more fully to Katie's staff, because for better or worse, Effy had come to Fitch.

The girl smirked again, fingers long and delicate as she wrote, _now what?_

+o+o

Fiona strained her eyes searching the black and gold plates for the right number as she walked along the narrow pavement squeezed between the street and low brick walls. At the car, Jen lugged her suitcases out of the boot.

"Where are we?" Jen asked.

"Fitch Row," said Katie.

Jen pulled a face. "It's like I just got out of prison or something and this is my halfway house."

"You might not be far off."

"Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all."

"Some of the interns are going to live here as well."

The largest of Jen's bags hit the ground with a thud. "No one said anything about me living with a bunch of teenagers all summer!"

"Don't be dramatic. They're all out of uni, and anyway, you'll only be neighbours."

Some distance away, Fiona coaxed open the gate to one of the houses and slowly trailed up the path to the door. "Here. This one's number twelve. If you'll come with me, Doctor Carter."

"You're not going to keep calling me Doctor Carter, are you? It's weird."

If there was anything Jenna did not lack, it was foresight. Sometime during Katie and Emily's infancy, she's had the presence of mind to purchase the series of terrace houses at Church Walk, just on the other side of the A4 from Fitch's main offices. Despite the cost of acquiring the properties to begin with, these were renovated, furnished, and stocked with basic household wares, held in perpetual fucking readiness for any visitor to the company that might require long term accommodation at the firm's expense. Number 12 became Jen's primary place of residence, the last in "Fitch Row." Why and by whom the area had been dubbed that, Katie had no notion, but the name had stuck. Katie went with her into the house, chivalrously carrying the lightest piece of luggage Jen had brought into the entryway.

"See?" demanded Katie. "I'm helpful."

Fiona, in high efficiency mode again, rattled off a long list of names and numbers at Jen, spending special effort on trying to impress upon her that emergencies were 999 or 112 and not 911. Jen didn't even get the chance to flippantly inform the assistant she couldn't possibly remember all that rubbish when Fiona presented her with a ridiculously thick welcome packet that included a summary of everything she'd just verbalised to the doctor.

"You've had one of these from us before, correct?" asked Fiona.

"Uh, I think so," said Jen. "Last time I got a card and like five hundred pounds or something."

"Excellent. Just pop by if you have any questions!"

"Try to stay awake until tonight," Katie advised on her way out. "It'll make the transition easier."

Of course, that meant that Jen sat down on one end of the sofa and promptly fell asleep so she could wake up at 21.00 and wrestle with insomnia until dawn. It was only later in one of those blurry states of sleep deprivation that Jen remembered to Google _Adam Abercrombie_ to see where he ranked on the scale from so-so to dating Katie Fitch. She found several photos of him, but the clearest one of him pictured him smiling with white even teeth, his neat, parted hair in juxtaposition to his roguish stubble. Well, Fiona certainly wasn't wrong about him being attractive, but then…oh, Katie. Emily's dislike became justifiable, her reticence directed not toward the man himself, but toward something unresolved in Katie for choosing him. Maybe the coincidence was happenstance, but the dark possibility of more was nagging, unsettling. Jen frowned as she studied the photo of Adam Abercrombie and it's revealing accompanying caption.

"Ah," Jen said quietly, and closed the window.

+o+o

While Jen required two days to recover from the jetlag created by the six-hour time change from Central Daylight to Greenwich Mean, Effy needed no such recuperation. On the day she arrived, Emily fidgeted through her first meeting, hurriedly cancelling the rest of her engagements whilst doing a very poor imitation of paying attention to Wally. As soon as it was over, she shot out of the conference room back toward legal, stopping short at the questioning eyebrow arch that the newly returned Fiona gave her from across the room. Emily was no longer the only one who knew she was hiding Effy fucking Stonem like a kilo of cocaine in her bottom desk drawer.

"Don't judge me, Fiona," Emily hissed as her assistant met her.

Fiona seemed wounded, a bundle of folders under her arm. "Just here to help, Miss Fitch."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise to me. Save those for Katie."

Emily stood frozen and impotent as Fiona swept smiling into the office. There were so many forms to be filled in: intellectual nondisclosure, items for the Home Office, the minutiae relating to pecuniary compensation and so on. After Effy completed a veritable mountain of paperwork, Emily smuggled her from Fitch to temporary lodging in a nearby hotel; it wouldn't do to have her down Fitch Row, lest she accidentally run into Jen while the two were on respective evening strolls or something. Her settling in, in true form, consisted of her throwing her rucksack onto the bed. She didn't bother even taking a peek out the window before she suggested Emily bring her to meet the interpreter.

Effy glanced at her strangely as Emily marched her down a dusty footpath. Okay, so Kew Gardens was a weird location for an introduction, but it was the first thing that had come into her mind and was probably the place they were _least_ likely to encounter Katie. Not to mention Emily's air of paranoid secrecy was beginning to border on hilarious. Beneath the arching branches of a particularly gnarled Holm oak, a waif of a girl with blue hair paced in circles around the trunk. Her shirt was plaid, flannel and hot looking for the weather.

"There you are," Addison said with some asperity. "Is there a reason we're met up in the bloody woods like a rendezvous from a spy film?"

"What's the passcode?" Emily deadpanned.

Addison lowered her voice to a gravelly rasp, waving her bent elbows like wings. "The crow flies at midnight."

"I didn't think you'd actually go for that."

"Game for anything, innit?" She motioned toward Effy without really taking her in. "Is this your new runner or whatever?"

"This is Effy."

Effy's clothes consisted of a rumpled tee and a pair of trousers that didn't fit her exceptionally well, and her hair was lank and seemed in need of a wash. Yet as she signed a quick greeting Addison's smile acquired a distinctly predatory quality.

"She's not like your secretary or something, is she?" Addison asked.

"Are you going to try to shag the whole fucking office?" objected Emily.

Smirking, Effy's eyes lit up with a blue mischief, but as she signed something else, Addison shrugged good-naturedly and replied, [Can't blame a girl for trying.]

Sensing she could (probably) safely leave the two to get acquainted, Emily tried to give Addison list of things that Effy needed doing. As she was still eyeing Effy, Emily finished up shoving it against her chest in order to get her to take it.

"I expect you to be there whenever she needs you for the next few days," said Emily. "You'll have full run of a Fitch car."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'll be checking in." She frowned. "And no fucking perving."

Addison saluted solemnly, rolling her eyes as Emily started back up the path.

[What's first?] asked Effy, not knowing herself what Emily thought was so important.

Tearing the paper in half, Addison let the wind catch the scraps, blowing them into the high grass. [Fuck it. Where do you want to go?]

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know the Keffy crew is small, but we're strong! If you have a question, comment, concern, whatever, drop me a line. If I can respond via PM I'll write back to you, solemn promise. It's the least I can do for your loyalty following me through not one but two slightly insane fics.**


	5. Chapter 4: Recombination

**A/N: Hey, thanks, all of you, for being just plain fucking nice to me. All of your comments have been helpful, constructive, kind, from readers and fellow authors alike. You have been the best lot a girl could ask for. **

**I'm woefully behind on almost literally everything, but posting this a little earlier than I thought I might. Just for you two who were plotting ways to give me a nudge. :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**Recombination: **The process by which genetic material is broken and joined to other genetic material

Effy didn't smile as she watched Emily go, the solicitor already small and distant as she turned at the end of the path. Never had she been assigned an interpreter for anything approaching full-time, not even as a primary student when she might have profited most from having one. Twelve years of education in Cook County had brought her nothing but reliance on her own talents. Effy shifted her stance, gaze angled down as she sauntered lazily to where the scraps of the list had fallen. She didn't _need_ Addison, but Emily with her good intentions seemed to want her there. Picking up first one half of the list and then the other, she slipped the papers into her back pocket.

[Do you want to do that stuff?] Addison asked, her incredulous expression conveying all sorts of unsigned surprise.

Effy considered. Want was a funny concept, and doing did not imply wanting. Under an oak at Kew Gardens, thousands of miles from home, and still no closer to doing what she wanted. She would submit to Emily's instruction. First, though, if Addison were bound to her, tethered to her like a dog, then it wouldn't do for either of them to be bitten.

She shrugged, signing, [What would you do?]

[Go somewhere cooler.] Addison grinned. [Have a beer.]

Smirking, Effy angled her head, indicating that Addison should lead on.

+o+o

Rather unwillingly, Jen got up early on the fifth day, yawning as she met Katie at the end of the garden path. The low morning sun cast long shadows across her face. The surrounding area was barely awake, almost preternaturally quiet compared to the roar of traffic and hum of activity that regularly buzzed in the background. A wren sang in the hedgerow across the street, its tiny shrill call ascending to a trill.

"Don't you sleep anymore?" Jen asked.

"Obviously," Katie replied, already striding up the pavement.

"It's like one in the morning at home."

Unmoved, Katie ignored her. Despite Jen being easily six inches taller and wearing flats, Katie by far outstripped her. She was well ahead when they climbed the steps at the north end of the road to traverse a bridge that spanned the rail line.

"Are we in a race I don't know about?" Jen complained.

"I have a conference call with the Swiss team at eight," said Katie.

"Thanks for slotting me in, pal."

Katie turned, exasperated.

"We're not on holiday—" she began, the rest of her retort drowned by the train that rattled by.

"No," Jen said more loudly. "It's cool, Fitch. The jet lag is just kicking my ass."

"I'll buy you a fucking coffee, yeah?"

"Why not? That would be super." She sighed, leaning over the black lattice rail to look down at the last carriage of the train as it disappeared below them.

"You can just say you miss me."

The American scoffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about. No, stop looking at me like that!"

Fighting a smile, Katie led the way round to a tiny coffee shop with a brown awning. Inside Jen ordered a latte that the girl surmised from the doctor's general lack of enthusiasm should be rather more espresso than milk, while Katie paid for a straight shot for herself. Jen blew impatiently into the mouth hole of her cup as they walked up the pavement toward headquarters. Katie wasn't sure it was really cooling the coffee off very much, but questioning the vast majority of Jen's odd habits was most often a lost cause. They had nearly reached the pedestrian crossing before Jen finally hazarded a sip, which naturally burnt her tongue.

"Jesus Christ," she swore. "This shit is like lava."

Patting Jen condescendingly like a small child, Katie pushed the button at the crossing, watching for the red symbol on the other side of the road to change. A triangle of landscaped lawn and hedge occupied the opposite corner of the intersection with a large stone sign in the centre which displayed the Fitch Pharma logo and the proclamation _Fitch Pharmaceutical, Ltd_. Jenna favoured the spot for official photos. She favoured it for unofficial photos as well for that matter, and Katie realised with some dismay she rapidly lost count how many she'd been forced to pose for with Emily in twenty-seven years of existence. There weren't many pedestrians about (there usually weren't) much less loiterers of any description, but a dark figure in a leather jacket was propped against the side of the Fitch marker; a figure that sent a tremor through Katie's limbs, evocative and numbing.

"Aw, that's cute," Jen was saying, flinching when Katie's espresso splashed onto the asphalt at her feet and fingers squeezed hard around the back of her arm. "Ow, what?"

It couldn't—but had to, the insouciant posture, the line of her body—Katie could imagine the smirk.

"Katie," Jen pressed. "What's—watch out!"

Dumbstruck, Katie had crept far enough into the street that a bus that rumbled past came within about five inches of taking her nose off and she jerked back, snapping out her trance. Her teeth tingled with the potent cocktail of hormones and bloodflow, but her brush with death contributed a mere fraction to her shock. She held her breath, straining her eyes as she frantically searched for any sign, any remnant of leather or short dresses or _blue_.

"Katie!" Jen gripped her shoulders. "For the love of God, I'm not that kind of doctor!"

"You didn't see?" asked Katie, twisting in her compulsion to keep looking.

"See _what?_"

"Just fucking there!"

"Are you okay?"

"No!"

"Fitch, you're freaking me out."

"I—"

She blinked. Whatever she thought she had seen wasn't there anymore. A fat bloke from IT ambled along. A few complete strangers. No one who bore any resemblance. For fuck's sake, Katie couldn't have confused _Kevin_ for her, but she must have done. It was the only explanation. She breathed again, heart hammering in her chest as though to reassure her the bus hadn't reduced her to a pile of broken bones. Smiling wryly, Katie retrieved her fallen cup, shaking the last few drops from the rim. The signal had switched once already in the interim, and as it went green for the second time she looked hard for several seconds before crossing. She tried to think of a sentence negative enough to encompass her opinion on the matter. Her eventual reply was trite.

"Sorry. I didn't see it."

"Even if it wasn't a massive red double-decker bus," said Jen, "that's why they paint those helpful instructions on the road. You know, 'Look right.'"

"You say that like I don't know which way to bloody look."

"You almost just got hit by a _bus_."

"Not because I was looking left."

"Well, that is a whole separate issue. How's the old eyesight doing? Can you read me the letters on that lamppost over there? Can you even see that lamppost?"

Unimpressed by Jen's ophthalmic intervention, Katie said, "You're not _that_ kind of doctor, either."

"Nerves. Eyeballs. Whatever."

By the time they entered the lower lobby at Fitch Headquarters, Jen had successfully ascertained that Katie had not gone blind in either eye, although the precision with which she could make out large objects was rather more dubious. Katie tapped her security card to the top of one of the speedgates, stepping through as the Plexiglas barriers obligingly swung open. Jen fumbled for a moment while she worked out which bit to touch where, but got through, bemused when Katie hung well back from the main floor of the atrium, her expression conflicted at best.

"Oh, now you want to be cautious," Jen said.

"Can I like, meet you later?" asked Katie.

"What, why?"

The source of her reticence turned out to be a very tall man in an impeccable gray suit. He buttoned his jacket over his waistcoat as he stood, his bearing warm and genuine. There must have been twenty metres between reception and the semicircular sofa on which he'd been reclining, but he seemed to take the distance in just a few short strides. Oblivious to Jen, he bent his head and kissed Katie soundly. Looking ridiculously nervous, Katie smiled up at him before glaring in the direction of the reception desk. The big Scot grinned and took her hand.

"They're not very good at their jobs, are they?" he asked.

"They just let you in?" said Katie.

"I said I was here to see you."

"They're meant to escort you."

"I should have tried to look more shifty, then. Could have snuck about a bit."

Jen laughed. "I doubt it would have made much difference." She shook Adam's free hand. "Jen Carter."

"Adam Abercrombie."

"Why've you come down, babes?" Katie said. "Not that I'm not happy to see you."

Producing a little memory stick from his pocket, he gave it to Katie. "You forgot that on the table this morning. I didn't know if it was important."

"Shit. Those are the protein sequences Jay gave me."

"Then I'm pleased I brought it. Afraid I've got to run now though. Lessons aren't going to teach themselves."

Katie kissed his cheek. "You're a life saver."

"Just banking favours for later," he said winking. "Jen, good to meet you. Maybe we can have a drink? Always pleasant to meet Katie's friends." Kissing Katie one last time, he murmured to her, "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Jen stared after him as he went, his well-tailored suit hugging him gracefully from broad shoulders to narrow hips. Arching an eyebrow, Katie elbowed her. In lieu of congratulations, Jen solemnly nodded.

"Yeah?" Katie asked, finally starting to look smug.

"Hell yeah," the doctor concurred.

As the two approached the lift bank, Jen's excited voice travelled vertically up the atrium toward the glass ceiling. Somewhere on the third floor, Effy swallowed and turned away from the rail.

+o+o

A year or two earlier, Emily would have reached out, sliding her hand across the cotton of the sheet. She would have reached until she touched skin or flannel pyjamas, either would have been warm and either would have reassured her that Naomi was close. If Naomi wasn't very deeply asleep, she might have gotten a sleepy murmur or maybe a sweet, gentle kiss. It was enough just to know she was there. But that had been then, and in her present, Emily knew without opening her eyes that she was alone. Secretly, she was glad of it. Since her return from Sierra Leone, having Naomi beside her startled her more often than not. For months she accustomed herself to the sensation of waking as the sole occupant of their bed, and now wasn't it _a_ bed? It didn't feel as though it belonged to either of them anymore. She sat up, pushing back the duvet.

She had showered and had almost finished packing before she realised that Naomi was still even in the flat. Her voice was nothing but an incomprehensible murmur, but as Emily glanced at her alarm clock she shook her head bitterly. Quick bare footsteps padded from the direction of the kitchen and Naomi walked into the bedroom with both hands full of notes. Her mobile was wedged against her shoulder, and she talked on to whoever it was at standard volume, oblivious to Emily's preparations on the other side of the room.

"We need more biohazard equipment for dealing with the waste," Naomi said. She clicked her fingers at Emily, hissing, "Where is that thing with the cost estimates?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Emily sniped.

Flinging a book on top of her clothes, she wrenched the zip on her bag closed. Naomi just then seemed to take stock of her surroundings. The brick wall behind the headboard was the same. The paintings on the walls hadn't changed, save for one being slightly off kilter. No, all was as it should be save the suitcase on the bed, and her eyes lingered on it with a dawning of recognition.

"Yeah, just a fucking sec, Steve," Naomi barked, smashing her papers into one hand so she could slowly lower her phone with the other. "Are you leaving?"

Emily lifted her suitcase, setting it methodically on the floor as she said, "Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"As if it makes any difference to you."

Naomi stepped closer, her tone growing more brittle. "Where are you going?"

"Fitch offices in Belgium."

"You're leaving for _work_? But, I—Emily, I just got back."

"You haven't been back in months, Naomi."

Naomi exhaled angrily as she prepared to defend herself, but a loud squawk from the other party in her abandoned conversation interrupted. Whether it was pure reflex or if Naomi did it intentionally, Emily didn't care. The fact that Naomi responded by bringing the phone up to her ear and saying, "What was that?" more than proved her argument. She smiled, bitterness apparent in the baring of her teeth, and she brushed past Naomi, wrenching her wrist free as her girlfriend tried to catch it.

"Emily, wait, please," Naomi called.

"_Wait_?" said Emily, spinning around.

Speechless at the audacity, the nerve of Naomi telling her to wait like she hadn't been doing that for all the time they'd been together, Emily looked into her face chin trembling. She left. Out of the flat, down the stairs, onto the pavement. She seethed, powerless and stricken. On the street a Fitch driver snapped to attention, leaping out of the car he'd brought. Midway between the blue painted surface of her outer door and the Fitch car, Emily faltered. Midway between the pressures of their obligation. Was it the only place she was permitted to be selfish? That three metres all that was left in her life of which she did not own a controlling share? When was she allowed ever to think first of herself? Of course, she knew the answer even before the driver relieved her of the suitcase and enclosed her in the leather rear of the Mercedes.

Never.

+o+o

Emily didn't dare bring Effy back to Fitch, at least not openly. A more stable introduction for her at the company would have to be postponed for a bit. The bit being as long as it took for Emily to come up with some sort of inspired plan to integrate Effy into legal's staff without Katie having an aneurysm. To be frank, she was starting to regret bringing Effy to London at all because she hadn't actually put much effort into trying to determine what would happen _after_ she managed to get the both of them in the same fucking country. So instead of letting Effy spend her first week with human resources, Emily's contingency was to take her to Belgium on her inaugural run, which more or less defeated the purpose of hiring her at all. At least she would have an opportunity to evaluate her performance as an assistant unbiased.

They met at Gatwick. At least Addison's unnaturally bright hair seemed to be useful for something, as Emily easily spotted them round the ticketing counters. Fiona's coppery ginger was nearby, by all appearances, turned slightly away in disgust from the blue. Emily made a mental note to give the poor woman a day off. Or a rise. Behind them, Effy observed the proceedings with one of her inscrutable little smirks. The last of the trappings that might have suggested she was a small town American had vanished in the preceding days. Fiona might have dressed her for how smart she looked, and Emily saw also she seemed older, more serious, as though a few yards of polyester and a pair of heels could make her a different person altogether.

"Good morning," Emily said.

Straightening up, Fiona turned gratefully. "Morning, Emily."

"It's just Belgium, Fi. It's not dangerous."

"Just wanted to make sure that everything went off without a hitch."

"Effy will be fine."

"S'not Effy I'm worried about," Fiona said through a forced a smile.

Emily glanced over the assistant's shoulder. The more butch of her dynamic duo had opted for an ensemble involving trousers, which evidently did not prevent her from tugging petulantly at the starched sleeve of her shirt. She very much doubted that Addison would have agreed to wear them at all under ordinary circumstances, so it followed that the transformation could be attributed to Effy. What Effy had done, Emily had no idea, but it seemed Miss Stonem had indeed done _something_, in that way she had of influencing total strangers.

"Are we ready?" Addison whinged. "I spent two hours trying to find my passport yesterday. If you'd just told me this was your ruddy plan, then I would have found it before."

"Should have told you to brush up your French as well."

"Late for that now, yeah?"

Emily said her goodbyes to Fiona and guided her new assistant and her assistant's interpreter toward security. The edge of something thin pressed into her right elbow, and she looked down to see Effy's iPad. Taking it, she slowed enough that Addison passed by. Effy had written something for her, deliberately excluding the interpreter.

_are you okay?_

Emily nodded, baffled, not because she actually _was_ okay but because she didn't understand why Effy had any cause to think otherwise.

_I'm fine._

Beside her, Effy stopped, blue eyes curious. _i'll be here when it changes_

Emily frowned, unnerved by the subtle offer of support. She moved quickly to catch up to Addison.

+o+o

Whilst Emily cogitated uncomfortably on a plane crossing the south tip of the North Sea, Katie was rounding the bend toward Emily's office lugging the extremely thick print version of the final Avartis contract. Ahead, the space beyond the closed door was dark, and she detoured toward Fiona's workstation in the corner. The little ginger smiled obligingly up at her as she folded her hands.

"Is Emily in?" Katie asked.

"No, she's gone to Belgium," replied Fiona.

"Belgium?"

"Some bureaucratic bollocks."

"She didn't need you?"

Nonchalant, Fiona echoed Emily's remonstrations concerning the safety of that nation. "Its just Belgium."

"Could I leave this in her office?" Katie held up the contract.

"It's not locked."

"Why do we need these? A small forest probably died for the paper."

Hauling the ream of paper away, Katie carried it into Emily's office. She dropped it into one of the chairs in front of her desk, but as she turned to leave, something caught her eye. She'd gotten enough missives from Jenna over the years that she knew the design of the stationery in excruciating detail. One disappointed note after another. Emily had one as well, positioned overlapping a geometric pattern on one side of the blotter. The odd thing wasn't that Jenna had written to Emily; it was the length of the message. Short, with a large flourished _Love, Mum _at the bottom. Knowing she shouldn't be invading Emily's privacy and reading her memos, Katie hesitated, but she was dying to know what it said.

_Had so much fun with you last week! Love, Mum_

What the fuck? Since when did Emily have like, mother-daughter outings with Jenna, especially mother-daughter outings to which Katie was not invited? Jenna didn't like Naomi. Therefore Emily didn't like Jenna. It was a circle of resentment as immutable as the colour of the sky. Yet people _could_ change. As unlikely as it seemed, perhaps Jenna was softening, attempting to extend an olive branch to her much-maligned younger daughter. Were that the case, Katie couldn't begrudge Emily the reprieve, her own ongoing feud with Jenna notwithstanding. She left Emily's office with a tentative smile, confused but hopeful. She couldn't let herself be jealous, not when Emily deserved so much more than she had been given.

+o+o

A week later, Katie began the arduous task of receiving the interns. To be fair, she wasn't receiving them personally; there was a team from human resources who in-processed them and got the internationals situated at Fitch Row, but their introductory first week and their rotations through departments was of Katie's design. It started out well enough, she and Fiona dispatching personnel to fetch the interns from airports and train stations. As the morning wore on, however, she could feel her blood pressure spike. She paced the length of her office, giving instructions to Fiona whilst also telling off some pencil pusher from accounts over the phone.

"When will the caterers be here next week?" Katie whispered.

"For the lunches or the intern reception?" asked Fiona.

"For the—No, I never authorised that."

Fiona looked at her in confusion for a moment before she realised she had returned to her row with the accountant.

"There are twenty interns," Katie went on. "Yes—right. I'm listening." A long pause ensued. "Only six are being provided residential accommodations by us." Another pause. "The one for the American doctor was also mine. Mmhmm." Katie rolled her eyes. "Okay. No, it's fine. You were just doing your job."

As Katie hung up, Fiona chuckled. "What was it?"

"Emily signed for something and they thought it was me." Katie frowned. "Did you know she was getting a new assistant?"

Fiona let out a noise that might have been the bastard love child of a gasp and a cough, recovering herself sufficiently to say vaguely, "We discussed it."

"Is that why she didn't take you to Belgium?"

"I stayed to help you."

Crossing her arms, Katie leaned back on her desk. "Oh, not you as well. I don't need an assistant!"

"Katie, for all intents and purposes I _am_ your assistant."

"I—that's not…" She trailed off. "You are, aren't you?"

"You've been sharing me with Emily for ages."

Wincing at the possible connotations of Fiona's phrasing, Katie stood up again. "There's got to be a better way to say that."

"Sorry."

"Are you…okay with this? Coming to work with me, I mean."

"I've no hesitations."

"Right. That's good. Still, Emily shouldn't have treated you like that."

Fiona shrugged. "I don't mind."

"She's replacing you with an American. I'm like, offended for you. You're fucking brilliant."

"Thanks, it's—"

Fiona broke off as Katie's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. For a long beat she stared into research and development, then rushed out of her office into the corridor.

"Katie?" said the bewildered Fiona.

The little ginger poked her head out, trying to see where her boss had gone. Katie stood amidst the worktables, expression somehow simultaneously irritated and contrite as she said something inaudible to one of the analysts, a frightened looking woman with thick dark hair. Trailing back in, Katie rubbed her forehead as she murmured incomprehensibly to herself aside from _twice_ which she repeated.

"What was that about?" Fiona asked.

"Your first act as my assistant," said Katie. "I need an appointment with an optician."

"Um, consider it done."

"What the hell were we talking about?"

Proffering her iPad, Fiona displayed the completed first week schedule for the interns. Each had to undergo mandatory new employee training which featured rather a lot of Fitch propaganda. They would also tour the facility and make decisions about which departments they would like to rotate through depending on their undergraduate qualifications.

"That will have to do," Katie said.

"I'll have the programme printed."

"Thank you."

Katie waited for her to go, and sighed. Fidgeting with the Fitch identification badge that hung from the waistband of her skirt, she lined up her remaining engagements in her head. The most pressing was with JJ over Jen's proposed humanised mouse study. Not to mention her unexplained inability to distinguish her employees from—well, if she was well and truly short sighted her myopia had to be dealt with. She needed to speak to Emily about Fiona, too, but she didn't have time at the moment. It would have to wait.


	6. Chapter 5: Pattern Recognition

**Chapter 5**

**Pattern Recognition: **A "non-specific" immune response to common pathogen associated molecular patterns such as lipopolysaccharide

The morning commenced with an almighty crash. The noise alone might have been enough to wake her if it hadn't been her left side colliding with the wood flooring that generated the sound to begin with. Her first groggy assumption was that the world was coming to a fucking end. Thoroughly tangled in the bedclothes, Katie looked up at the ceiling, right leg still caught on the corner of the mattress.

"Katie?" Adam said.

Katie popped up over the side of the bed, hampered by the sheet pinning her arms to her torso. From the doorway of her bathroom, peered concerned into the darkness, his face half lathered with shaving cream. He quickly wiped his jaw with the towel over his shoulder and trotted over to help her in struggling out of her improvised straightjacket.

"What happened?" he asked.

Pushing her hair back, Katie growled as Adam chucked the balled sheet onto the duvet. "Fucking fell, didn't I?"

"Bad dream? You don't normally thrash about."

Her initial irritation at having fallen out of bed for the first time since she was eight subsiding, she nodded, hugging him as he kissed her forehead.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

To be totally honest, no, she didn't. Mostly because she couldn't remember why it had felt so upsetting. As she laid her cheek against his bare chest, the details of the dream were fleeting. She thought it had involved the day she broke her arm, but that wasn't right. At no point after her slip on the ice had she felt a blind panic that overwhelming. Even unconscious she'd literally thrown herself trying to stop it. Fortunately, the waking drop had been a short one. She was on fucking edge, had been ever since that incident with the bus. Adam rubbed his thumb over her shoulder blade, his strength and warmth comforting against her.

"I've got to finish getting shaved," he said. "All right?"

Withdrawing, Katie nuzzled his collarbone, which was about all she could reach their heights were so disparate. "Yeah."

"I'm happy to stay."

"I'm fine, babes. Don't be late."

"Come sit with me?"

Surprised, Katie smiled. She followed him into the bathroom, taking up a position on the rim of the huge bath while she watched him reapply the foam to the stubbled side of his face.

"Have any exciting plans for the day?" he asked.

"I'm going to the optician, actually," said Katie.

"Oh, that _is_ exciting." He drew his razor up to his chin, frowning as he tapped it in the basin. "Having trouble seeing?"

"I think I'm getting a bit short sighted."

"All that late night reading."

"Watch, I'll need glasses or something."

Chuckling, Adam shaved the last section.

"What?"

"I think I might like you in glasses."

"Like fucking hell you will."

He rinsed his face, his wet grin reflected in the mirror. Katie squealed as he scooped her up and kissed him deeply.

+o+o

"What do you mean excellent?"

The moustachioed optometrist looked distinctly taken aback at Katie's reaction. On one or two occasions he'd had fairly hysterical episodes from vain women who were devastated by the prospect of spectacles or contact lenses. Never had he seen a patient been so manifestly disappointed to be informed her eyes were in perfect working order.

"Um, your vision is quite good, Miss Fitch," he stammered. "Better than average as a matter of fact."

"So I'm not short sighted?"

"No, your visual acuity is six four. Remarkable really. It's quite good."

"And there's nothing else wrong?"

"Nothing at all. No astigmatism, cataracts or colour blindness. Your intraocular pressure was normal. You vision is—"

"Quite good. You said that."

"Yes, I've started repeating myself, haven't I?"

"You can't…you're sure I don't need a prescription?"

"I could write you one, but I'm afraid it would be blank. You simply don't require corrective lenses." The optometrist ducked his head. "Is there anything else I can help you with this morning?"

Katie shook her head, and the man's features acquired a trace of relief as he excused himself from the exam room. More confused than ever, she pressed one hand to her forehead, trying to reconcile what she had seen with all the logic she possessed. Katie huffed. Well, at least she hadn't gotten a completely shit lot when her chromosomes came together during genetic roulette. She might not be able to bear her own children, but dammit she had eyesight good enough to rival Olympic sharpshooters. It wasn't her vision that was making her see her ex fucking girlfriend all over creation. Clearly she had a brain tumour, because daylight hallucination was next on her extremely short list of possible culprits.

+o+o

Fiona was posted like a little sentinel just outside the lift when Katie alighted on R&D's level at Fitch as a sunglasses wearing hellion. The assistant immediately relieved Katie of her purse in exchange for her MacBook as they walked up the corridor.

"Your first meeting this morning is with JJ and Jen in five," Fiona said, "after which the intern rotation schedule needs approval. And, oh." She came to an abrupt halt, holding out two cups. "Tea or coffee?"

Jesus Christ, she was efficient.

"Tea?" Katie said uncertainly.

"Yes, I was hoping you'd say that." Fiona gratefully downed a bit of the coffee. "Cheers."

Stowing her MacBook under her arm, Katie let Fiona steer her to the smallest of R&D's meeting rooms. The others were sized for large departmental affairs, and would be ridiculous when they required nothing more than a table and a board suitable for outlining the necessary protocols. She'd long ago given up trying to have meetings in her own office, because the atmosphere gave her the sense she was becoming Jenna, an unpleasant but real danger. As she stepped inside, she caught Jen in the middle of drawing a cartoon mouse.

"What?" Jen said defensively, capping a blue dry erase marker.

Feeling somewhat vindictive after her non-diagnosis at the optician, Katie wiped off the mouse's beady black eyes and drew Xs in their place in black.

"Why you got to kill my mouse?" asked Jen.

"You should get used to it," said Katie.

"Dead mice?"

Katie sat down at the table. "You'll be killing loads of them soon."

"Like…with my bare hands…?"

"Have you _ever_ worked with mice before?"

"Yes."

Katie raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Well, a little."

"_Jen_."

"Okay, once, when I was in med school. It's not important. I'll have you to help me anyway, right?"

Katie grimaced, skin crawling with the recollection of the research animal facilities, ten thousand scrabbling mice in boxes of five. "No, JJ will have a technician to teach you."

Then again, that was merely an assumption on Katie's part. After two hours determining how many animals would be required, what reagents had yet to be ordered, and what modifications to Fitch official standard operating procedures need be made for the Home Office, it became startling apparent that JJ had no such person.

"I'm afraid the only person who knew how was Jared," said JJ.

Initially, Jen looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. Katie stared at her, uncertain how in the blazes she could possibly fail to recall her epic fuckathon with JJ's technician on her last and only visit to London. As the silence wore on, an inkling of realisation dawned and a sound escaped her. She blushed furiously to the roots of her hair.

"Oh?" Jen asked, her voice jumping up an octave.

JJ laughed. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about him."

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Jen scrubbed her palm on the knee of her trousers. "No, of course not. How is he? In a totally professional, non-sexual way."

"Well, the last I heard. He's working on a project at the University of Melbourne."

"Oh, good." She visibly relaxed at the news her erstwhile partner was in a completely different hemisphere. "That's—that's just swell."

"That's well classy, Jen," said Katie.

"What's the phrase?" asked JJ. "'Hit it and quit it?'"

"Commitments." Jen waved her hand. "Ain't nobody got time for that."

"Who's supposed to teach her the protocol, then?" Katie said.

"Well, funny you should mention that." Hesitating, JJ pointed at her. "I believe the only one here who's ever done it is you."

Jen burst out laughing. "Speaking of things ain't nobody got time for."

"In academia, this sort of thing is all freely disseminated. I might have a researcher from Zurich come to teach you how to reconstitute the mice, but none of them have incentive to help us on this. The legal entanglements alone…you get the picture."

"When the hell did you have a humanised mouse project, Fitch?"

Shrugging, Katie said, "Years ago when I first worked for Alan."

"I realise you've not done wet work in quite a while," JJ demurred. "Jen could always have a go on her own."

"Shit. Is there no one else? This model is complicated."

"Katie, don't worry about it," Jen put in. "Why don't I try it by myself first?"

"It's not like baking a fucking cake. Combine black six mice with foetal liver, then cook at five hundred bloody rad."

"I—ew."

"I don't even have clearance for the fucking animal facility."

"That part is easily rectified," said JJ. "I'll arrange with the vet to have you both trained."

"Would you coordinate with Fiona, please, Jay? The interns are coming next week." Katie glanced at the clock above the door and sighed. "Are we finished here?"

"I think so. We all seem to have enough doing for now."

As JJ stood taking photos of their notes from the whiteboard rather than waste time copying them, Jen sat forward, placing her elbows on her knees so that she might have a more private word with Katie about their current predicament.

"I know you're busy," said Jen. "You really don't have to do this."

"I'm invested in this project as well," Katie replied. "I want it to proceed."

"Yeah, me too."

"You're really not keen on the mice, though, are you?"

"I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to help people, and I don't like having to get to that point by maiming defenceless rodents."

"You think I _like_ hurting them?"

"No, of course not! It's just…a necessary evil that I'm not entirely sure is necessary."

"I used to have a problem petting cats and dogs after."

"Oh, fantastic. I have post traumatic stress to look forward to."

Jen's comment sparked something in Katie's mind and she straightened up, gazing at the doctor sidelong. She waited until JJ said his goodbyes, before addressing the doctor.

"You're a neurologist," said Katie.

"A baby neurologist," Jen said. "But yeah."

"What do you know about…seeing things?"

Jen's eyebrows shot up. "Like what kinds of things?

"Like, people."

"In an 'I see dead people' kind of way or Jesus, I've seen that girl from accounts six times today, what the fuck?"

"Neither."

Professional interested piqued, Jen started ticking off symptoms. "Neuropathy?"

"No."

"Headaches?"

"Not more than usual."

"Has there been other sensory stimulation?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Katie shook her head. She didn't know quite why she lied. Stupid to do it, and yet acknowledging it had happened at all felt like admitting she was going stark raving mad. Her near miss with the bus and her confrontation with the analyst had been embarrassing enough, but before that there had been the day Jen arrived. Katie'd been primarily bleary and confused when they'd roused her, but beneath it, she smelled something strange. So soft, but heady enough to trickle like liquid until she could taste it in the back of her throat, on the base of her tongue. How many times had she smelled it, just like that? Turning her head to kiss the hand that cupped her cheek? The aroma was imprinted on her, as clean and unmistakeable as the day she'd last—No.

It had happened before. In corridors, on the street, at fucking Tesco, some sick persistent hope during her first few weeks back in London twisting combinations of shampoo and soap and perfume. Katie's heart would clench, and she _looked_, like a fucking idiot she always looked, until one day she didn't. But that morning while Jen had taken her to task, she'd been half distracted by the juxtaposition of the nightmare pursuing her into the waking world. That the smell had felt real enough to make her diaphragm seize with anticipation—of what? Ever since then her mind was playing tricks on her. If dreaming that her ex had come and touched her, had stroked her face with fingers that shook, could be considered a nightmare. Definitely a bloody nightmare.

Getting hold of herself, Katie said, "It's probably just like, a sign I'm about to have a nervous breakdown."

"You should take it easy, Fitch. If the stress is getting to you—"

"The fucking stress is not fucking getting to me."

Jen held up her hands. "Do I even need to say anything right now?"

Katie rolled her eyes, snatching up her laptop from the table. "Fucking tosser."

"Ah, angry Katie is my favourite Katie."

+o+o

Katie was still in high dudgeon the next morning when she ran into Emily in the atrium, which would have been bad enough if not for the fact that she was stood there having a word with Jenna. Katie sighed, steeling herself to separate the combatants if it came to a melee, but as she approached, there were no raised voices or snide repartee. Instead, Jenna was _laughing_ at something Emily had said, an event as rare between the two as the coming of Halley's fucking Comet. Mystified, Katie pinched herself. It was official. She'd lost the fucking plot. Accepting that sanity had utterly left the building, she marched up to them. Jenna's laughter immediately died. Crickets might have chirped while tumbleweeds blew past on a chill breeze down the length of the atrium, but as Katie was obviously hallucinating, who was to say for certain?

"Hello, Katie," Jenna said with a modicum of coolness.

"Morning, Mum," said Katie.

"How are the preparations for the interns coming?"

"Well."

"That's lovely. I'll see you tonight, Emily."

Jenna smiled primly at the twins, squeezing Emily's shoulder. Motioning to Michael who waited nearby, they walked off together.

"Where are you going with Mum?" Katie asked.

"Nowhere important," said Emily.

Katie frowned. What the actual fuck? Unrealistic expectations were one thing, but apathy? Since when had _she_ become the sole outcast of the family? Whilst she watched Jenna's retreat, Emily headed toward the lift bank. Thoroughly annoyed, Katie chased her sister down. If Emily didn't want to chat about Jenna, there was still the matter of her ignominious dismissal of Fiona from legal to R&D to discuss.

"I want to speak to you," Katie said.

Emily stepped into the lift ahead of her, saying lightly, "Then start speaking."

"What you did to Fiona was shitty."

"Which bit exactly?"

"The bit where you just shunted her off like."

"She agreed to the arrangement, Katie."

"_I_ didn't agree to the arrangement."

"So this is about you and not her, then?"

"No! This is about you."

The bell in the car dinged, and Emily strode off. Swearing, Katie realised she'd forgotten to push the button for her own floor. Just as well as she wasn't done with Emily by half, and tracked her into legal.

"I asked if she'd mind being transferred," said Emily. "She was fine with it. End of."

"Why wasn't I brought in then?" Katie asked weakly.

"Because I knew you'd be fucking dramatic about it. We both needed full time assistants, and since you wouldn't hire one for yourself I made a decision. If you want to argue about being unfair to Fiona, making her work for both of us was unfair."

Katie scowled, incensed that Emily's explanation should be so fucking reasonable. As they got within sight of Emily's office, the veritable Fiona shot out from behind a partition like a manic red squirrel, planting herself firmly between the twins and the way forward.

"Speak of the devil," said Emily.

"Morning," Fiona chirped. She turned to Katie at once. "Katie! What are you doing up here?"

"I—what?" Katie said. "What are _you_ doing up here?"

"Looking for you, silly."

Baffled, Katie dug in her bag for her phone to check her appointments. "Am I late?"

As she scanned her calendar, Fiona widened her eyes at Emily, giving an understated little flick of her chin at Katie.

"What?" Emily mouthed, picking up on her alarm.

The little ginger gestured at Emily's office. Cottoning on, Emily blanched, spreading her hands. They had to get rid of Katie. Fiona hastily transformed her frantic responding wave into an exaggerated stretch when Katie looked up again. The older twin glanced suspiciously between the two at their studious silence.

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Katie asked.

"Nothing!" Fiona squeaked

Emily pressed her lips together, about to become seriously cross with Fiona if the woman had managed to keep schtum for months only to fold like a house of cards at the crucial moment.

At the same time, Fiona coughed, carefully lowering her voice to a more respectable register. "I should say, nothing. Why ever would you think that?"

"I really need to get on with my day," Emily said pointedly, cutting across Katie.

"We're not done yet," said Katie.

Suddenly, Katie's had an idea. Ordinarily she would have thought it a crazy idea, but crazy was becoming a regular thing for her so why shouldn't her train of thought have a strange ring of sense about it? The repeated sightings. The new _American_ assistant. Emily wouldn't do that to her, would she? A white bolt of rage shot through her as she ground her teeth.

"Tell me you fucking didn't," Katie said with perilous calm. "Tell me you fucking _didn't_."

A twelve-inch brick wall couldn't have stopped her as she stalked away from Emily, advancing on Emily's door with single-minded purpose. Fiona had only just enough time to cast Emily a horrified glance before the solicitor propelled herself in Katie's wake.

"Katie, wait," Emily said.

She caught at Katie's arm, but it was too late. Closing her eyes, Emily flinched as Katie threw open the door. A beat went by, during which Emily didn't dare look. Then she cautiously cracked one eyelid. Beside her Katie had her face covered with both hands, muttering to herself, but inside she didn't see at all what she was certain she would. Addison waited by the desk, peering inquisitively at the odd behaviour of both twins, but she was the sole occupant of the room. There was no one else.

"I've fucking lost it," Katie mumbled. "I thought—oh my god, I've gone mental. Absolutely fucking mental."

Emily stared at Addison, whose poker face was considerably better than Fiona's had been. With uncharacteristic aplomb, she broke the ice.

"Addison Weekes," she said to Katie. "Emily's assistant."

Jaw dropping, Katie nodded stupidly. "_You're_ her new assistant?"

"Yeah, have you got a problem with that?"

"No. It's like, brilliant or something."

Katie trailed slowly away, allowing Fiona to drape an arm around her shoulder and lead her down the stairs.

"Who was that?" Addison asked. "Looks just like you."

"My sister, Katie," replied a dazed Emily. Snapping into action after a moment, she quickly shut the door hissing, "Where the fuck is Effy?"

"Waiting to scare the piss out of you later, yeah?"

Emily rounded the desk, the only thing in the room she could reasonably have hidden behind. Tucked in the kneehole, Effy lounged on the floor, propped on one elbow while she gazed out the window. She looked for all the world rather bored with such cloak and dagger measures to keep her presence secret from Katie. She squirmed out, dusting down her trousers like she frequently dove behind furniture for cover whilst hiding from former lovers.

"She's fucking seen you," Emily bitched. "What have you been doing?"

Effy arched an eyebrow.

"Are you even ready?"

Arrogant as Effy's nod was, Emily wasn't so sure.

+o+o

The eager young interns came to Fitch on Monday. They milled about in a gaggle at one side of the atrium as the team from human resources organised them and passed around their identification tags. They were too small from Katie's vantage point to be more than different coloured stick figures, her extraordinary 6/4 vision notwithstanding. There were twenty of them in all. Each had to undergo mandatory new employee training which featured rather a lot of Fitch propaganda and the compulsory facility tour. Although most would be distributed to other departments in four weeks time, one would be more or less Katie's responsibility for the next year, or perhaps it was more appropriate to say that she would share the responsibility with JJ. A daunting proposition in addition to everything else she was expected to manage.

Eventually the hour rolled around when representatives from each department went down for formal introductions. At a loose end, Jen accompanied Katie and JJ into the atrium. The interns were assembled against one wall, just beneath several large ficus trees that grew in the space. Katie and Emily gravitated toward one another, evaluating the recent graduates they had hired in person. As they went round the circle stating their names and credentials, the girls got restless.

"Who's that huge girl at the back?" Emily whispered.

"Jesus, she must be taller than Jen," Katie said.

Jen scoffed. "What am I, a cave troll?"

"What's her name?" Emily asked again.

Katie squinted at the list of names. "Amanda Bairstow."

"Like, _Bairstow_ Bairstow?"

"Yes, that Bairstow."

"I didn't know he had a daughter."

"A fucking giant, more like."

Someone prodded Katie hard in the ribs and she rounded on the culprit angrily with a grunt of pain.

"What the—" she said in an undertone.

"Katie, it's your turn," JJ murmured.

"Oh!" Katie turned back to face the interns, blushing. "Katie Fitch, Vice President of Vaccine Development."

"Emily Fitch, Director of Intellectual Property."

Katie's face was still hot when they'd reached the last of the managers and Jenna took centre stage, ever in command of her showmanship.

"Good afternoon managers, interns, friends," Jenna said. "As a Fitch and chief executive officer of our company, I think I speak for the Fitch family when I welcome each and every one of our new interns to life here at our headquarters in London. Katie has planned a proper reception for you tomorrow night, but for now please, get to know one another and again, welcome."

Jenna smiled broadly as she stepped down from her invisible soapbox. She lingered for a few seconds, then made a beeline directly for Katie who waited with a grimace. Sensing something was about to happen, Jen abandoned the sisters for JJ.

"For Pete's sake, Katie," Jenna said quietly. "You're a manager now. You could at least try to act like it?"

"Sorry?" said Katie. "Emily was whispering, too."

"She was prepared."

Outraged, Katie glanced at the unscathed Emily like they were six years old and her twin had just escaped reprimand. Everything, the whole fucking thing was just becoming too much to bear.

"I'll try harder," Katie said.

Crossing her arms, she disappeared into the crowd, needing to be away from all of them. She was supposed to stay in the atrium to socialise, but the desire to fulfil that obligation had gone entirely. Climbing the stairs up to her office, she left off on the second floor, veering away up a corridor as she desperately attempted to get herself in order. Pushing into the ladies toilets, she went into a cubicle and locked the door. She was fairly certain she'd never even been _in_ that particular loo, to the point of not recognising the woman she brushed past, and she'd gotten quite adept at knowing people.

She shut her eyes hard. When had it all been turned on its ear? She didn't know, didn't know where she was in metaphorical terms or how she'd got there. She didn't know when it had become so difficult just to be without feeling she was fighting tooth and nail for every centimetre. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her shirt and held her head up. She slid the latch back slowly, walking across the tiled floor to the sink. The cold water was splashing over her hands from the tap, when she finally realised that someone was watching her. No, staring at her, with an intensity that felt it might bore a hole in her skull. Katie lifted her gaze to the mirror, somehow unsurprised when blue eyes met her own.

Oh, it was just her daily hallucination, then. Because why not? Nothing to agonise over. Much sharper than any of the others had been, though, and peculiarly different than Katie's memory of her. The dress suited her. She looked older, the hard lines of her leanness softened into more subtle curves. The phantasm's tits were bigger as well. Jesus, her brain really was broken. Katie laughed, letting the illusion hold her gaze. Enough was enough, however, and she turned, fully expecting the girl to vanish again, but this one was persistent. Katie cocked her head, willing it away, but…fuck. It was the tiny hint of shock in the eyes, those blue fucking eyes that sent the spark of truth spiraling into her blood.

_Effy_.


	7. Chapter 6: Cyclosporin A

**Chapter 6**

**Cyclosporin A: **A calcineurin inhibitor that prevents activation of T lymphocytes

Katie blinked. She blinked again. The ultimate foolproof affirmation was unthinkable and unnecessary. It couldn't and yet was. Had to be. There wasn't a name for the emotion coursing through her. Shock, first and foremost perhaps. But then also relief because she wasn't fucking bonkers after all. Anger. Confusion. Smaller bits of other things that compressed so tightly they came right back round to shock again. If there was any change in the girl's answering expression beyond her slight surprise, Katie could no longer perceive it. The open, easy look she'd taken evaporated. Her eyes darted, from ceiling to floor, silver bolts and textured walls, but always, always keeping the contours of the other body at the edges of her vision. They were frozen, and still inexorably bound for collision for all their immobility portended. Gladiators in single combat. Dogs pitted in a Jack London novel. They waited for an age, Katie torn between rage and revulsion and something else entirely, cornered because Effy Stonem was blocking her only means of egress.

In the end, it was Effy who moved first, which objectively, maybe, Katie might have predicted. She slowly retreated a single pace to her left, lifting her chin just a touch. The gesture had no discernable purpose, the flick lazy and understated. On another girl, the angle her gaze took might have been arrogant, down her nose at the much smaller Katie. On Effy, it bared the curve of her long, pale throat, exposing those tissues until Katie half-imagined she could see the pattern of the fragile, bluish veins beneath the skin. Only then did Katie realise a wave of some sort was building in her chest. The pressure rising up like she was still trapped against the row of taps and she and Effy meant to bruise one another before it was done.

There was nothing to say or in the event, no opportunity to say it. The door swung open, and Katie jumped as though she'd been caught out doing something far more sinister than staring down her ex-girlfriend in the fucking loo. The hapless entering woman stopped short, one foot in the corridor. A beat ensued during which she noticeably tried to work out what the Vice President of Vaccine Development was doing. It no doubt seemed Katie was stood there on her own in the centre of the tiled floor glaring daggers at the cubicles as Effy was mostly shielded from view by the door. If Katie had been on the cusp of explosion, the welling wrath subsided in a rush. She could feel Effy's eyes on her, feel her proximity, the fact she wouldn't even twitch when the woman from marketing edged cautiously further into the toilets.

So Katie did the only thing she could countenance: she fled. Barrelling straight into the woman's shoulder, Katie sped toward the stairwell. She wasn't running exactly. She didn't need to, because she was the one who fucking _worked_ there and if there was anyone who needed to be escorted from the premises it was Effy, preferably by two burly policemen who would tell her in no uncertain terms she was not to come back. What was she doing there? What the _fuck_ was she doing there? How had she even got in? Why had—Katie's fingers curled into her palm as she skidded to a halt, pressing against the glass that separated the upper floors from the atrium. Below she could see her twin's petite form beside the relatively enormous one of Amanda Bairstow. The suspicion that had hung in loose threads since the day she met Addison wove together in a damning tapestry. The markedly un-American Addison wasn't Emily's new assistant; no, Effy was.

She exhaled shakily, hot breath condensing on the glass for the merest of moments before disappearing. Brimming with calm borne of righteous fury, she descended to ground level. Across the crowded space, Emily continued to chat with the Bairstow girl, back to back with Jen. Katie wove through the maze of interns and managers, until she drew level with her sister, ignoring her squeaked protest as she cut short some joke Emily had been about to make to the giant. Wordless, she caught Emily's upper arm in a death grip and dragged her in the direction of a deserted alcove, nails digging mercilessly into her flesh all the while. Emily finally twisted free as Katie shoved her into the corner.

"Jesus, Katie," said Emily indignantly. "What the hell?"

"Why," Katie said quietly, inches from Emily's face. "Why is she in the fucking loo?"

Emily rubbed at her wounded arm. "Why is _who_ in the loo?"

"Why is _she_ in the. Fucking. Loo."

Apparently Emily had been taking a correspondence course from the Effy Stonem School of Sanctimonious Looks because she simply went still. Her gaze persisted steady and unabashed.

"Why?"

Emily smiled cryptically, saying, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"It seemed like a good idea?!"

"I was just supposed to stay stood by while you walked away from—"

"_I _wasn't the one who walked away, Emily."

"And now she's—"

"Is still nothing to me!"

"Will you let me finish one fucking sentence?"

"No, because you had no right."

Emily's betrayal was the last straw on Katie's camel of control. She swallowed, her voice beginning to tremble.

"You had no right," Katie growled. "You _have_ no fucking right."

A hand closed over her shoulder, gently pulling her from almost on top of Emily. Katie jerked away, literally snarling in Jen's extremely startled face. Features a mire of conflict, she flinched, mumbling something Jen couldn't make out as Katie vanished into the gaggle of surreptitious onlookers. Their tonal whispers hissed like a draughty window into the atrium. Tugging anxiously at one earlobe, Jen watched her go.

"Dare I inquire what the hell that was about?" Jen asked.

Rather than a response, Jen was treated to the departure of the other Fitch twin, who crossed her arms and stalked off in the opposite direction. Flummoxed, Jen planted her hands on her hips, mulling over what possibly could have transpired.

+o+o

Damp evening air descended over West London, the dark clouds encroaching promising rain. Addison leapt up onto the rail ahead of Effy, swinging one leg over so she straddled the thin barrier of metal that separated the little bridge from the water below. She leaned over perilously, watching the froth on the surface of the river flow downstream. Nearby, Effy slipped a cigarette from her packet, almost bringing it to her lips before reconsidering and offering it to Addison instead. Quirking up a quick appreciative smile, Addison took it, fishing out her own lighter. She cupped the flame in her hand, tilting her head back as she blew a perfect white ring into the darkening sky. Filter firmly clamped in her mouth, Addison hopped down again.

[Thanks,] she signed. [I needed that.]

Effy nodded impassively, tapping a second cigarette against the paperboard of the packet. _Smoking kills_ the label warned seriously. That was mostly the point, wasn't it?

[Looks like rain,] Addison went on. She turned toward Effy, leaning on one elbow. [What do you need interpreted in the park?]

[Nothing,] Effy replied.

[It's creepy here. They found a girl dead in the woods last autumn.]

[Suicide?]

[Murder.] Addison flicked a bit of ash away. [So, how do you know Emily's sister?]

Effy very nearly rolled her eyes at the question, having endured dozens of permutations of it ever since she'd wound up diving for cover in Emily's office. Her unexpected reunion with Katie in the toilets reminded her Addison would discover her past with the oldest Fitch whether or not she was ready for it. Shifting, Effy considered her.

[We have history,] said Effy.

[History?] Addison asked. [Or _history_?]

[Did we fuck?]

Of course, Addison knew the answer. [Oh, you fucked.]

She laughed incredulously, looking at Effy with newfound respect. What enticements did Effy possess with the power to seduce the cock crunching Katie Fitch?

[How?] Addison pressed.

Shrugging, Effy slid her unsmoked fag back into the packet.

[She seems like a bitch.]

Effy smirked. [She is.]

[I suppose it takes all sorts. And you're here for why?]

[Time will tell.]

Addison frowned. [You can't want to fuck her _that_ much.]

[No.]

[Then—]

The first heavy drops of rain left wet splotches on the concrete. Crying out in dismay, Addison yanked the collar of her shirt up, trying vainly to shield her neon coiffure from the downpour. She motioned frenetically for Effy to follow, taking off at a sprint to the cover of the trees. Effy merely sauntered in her wake, content to reach the woods whenever she got there. The cigarettes she tucked into the front of her dress, satisfied if they were all that remained dry.

+o+o

Meanwhile, Emily didn't bother journeying home. There was nothing there for her but the empty flat, where at some point in the small hours of the morning Naomi would return. Even if she sat awake and buried in contracts and negotiations, Naomi would go into the kitchen, oozing disapproval. Some nights, Emily might get a perfunctory kiss on the forehead, an action more borne of muscle memory than affection. It was the ritual, a tide of resentment that ebbed and flowed as one worked too hard and one evidently not hard enough.

Emily closed her eyes, unsure if the lines of the text on her screen were blurring together or if she were on the verge of tears. It was a shambles, and suddenly she regretted everything she had fought for. Belgium. Effy. Everything. Because what was the fucking purpose of trying if it got her nothing but more hostility? Her thumb hovered over her mobile, wanting to text Naomi, ring her, just hear from her and take a little respite in loving and being loved, but the attempt would be a fruitless endeavour. Naomi's pursuit of social justice meant she often put the needs of strangers above her own, above Emily, above reason. They had lost sight of one another, and it wouldn't be long then, until neither could find her way back again.

+o+o

She wasn't going to like, cry. Nevertheless, it was the primary urge in Katie's repertoire as she restlessly progressed from room to room, unable to sleep. She hardly spent any time in the house anymore, and then almost exclusively on the trek from entryway to bedroom. The lounge sat as though staged for sale; the surfaces in her kitchen likely would have collected dust had it not been for the cleaners. Round and round she paced until she finished up sitting in the middle of the walnut steps, the most neutral place she could conceive to occupy. She considered her residence reclaimed space, a location she had taken back for her own. Months it had taken her to be completely comfortable in it after Hurricane Effy had ripped away all of her moorings, and only because she eventually rationalised it wasn't the sofa's sodding fault if she'd fucked Effy on it. The justification was accordingly applied to everything from front door to the back garden and in due course she found it in her to forgive inanimate objects their complicity.

Yet, despite her long-standing détente with her floorboards and furniture, she might well have been fresh returned from America for how exposed she felt. She supposed on reflection that the fact she felt exposed at all was the most perplexing detail. Logically, there was no cause for her to be vengeful, to perpetuate whatever hate Effy had carried for her. If Emily wanted the backstabbing bitch so close, then that was her prerogative. She didn't care about Effy, what she did or what happened to her. Logic, however, couldn't induce her not to blame every single millimetre of fabric or paint or glass the girl had ever touched. Cradling her aching head, she quivered with the strain. Effy had always had a talent for unsettling her, and the evidence indicated she might do so forever. The fucking nerve of that girl. To turn up in London where she wasn't welcome, for what intent Katie couldn't bear to risk conjecture. Whatever it was, she wasn't going to get it.

So when morning came, and Katie hadn't slept a wink, her routine held her in good stead. She needn't fear going back to Fitch because legal was separate from R she didn't even see Emily for the most part unless she sought her out, and Emily had become a unit with Effy. A lying, traitorous fucking unit. She would go to her office. She would do her job. If she pretended Effy didn't exist, she wouldn't. The reassurance she gleaned from it was marginal at best, though, because it didn't prevent her from giving the atrium a thorough once over before she darted from the staff entrance to the lift. As she emerged from the lift with her bag slung in the crook of her arm, she saw Fiona waiting on the landing as was the little ginger's wont upon Katie's arrival. Usually she carried a cup of tea or coffee, but that drizzly Tuesday she held a positive shop worth of options, her bright smile uncharacteristically dimmed.

"Morning!" Fiona said, proffering her fantastically overburdened carry tray.

"Jesus, what's this, then?" Katie asked.

"You can never have too much variety."

"If there's a tea in there, I'll have it."

Fiona eagerly handed over the requested tea. "Here you are."

"Take the rest of that lot over to the malaria team."

The assistant scampered off as Katie walked up the corridor toward her office. Well, Fiona tended to be sort of over-obliging as a rule (it was part of what made her a good assistant) but six interpretations of espresso seemed a bit weird. Drained, she collapsed in the chair behind her desk, deciding she didn't have the energy to mentally grapple with Fiona's beverage idiosyncrasies. She was just beginning to let the heat and promised caffeine of the tea lull her into a false sense of security when Fiona came in with her schedule.

"You'll be with the interns most of the day," Fiona said. "Remember, you have a meeting with the vet tomorrow morning and a conference call with the Belgian office just after."

Katie perked up slightly, then scoffed. "Did we sort something out with them? Or are they still in a pissing match with Zurich?"

"I think that's what they want to discuss with you."

"For fuck's sake, it doesn't matter who does it so long as the vaccine goes to trial. Like, sharpish."

Further irritated by talking of interns and Belgians, Katie had half a mind not to speak to them at all, so that Emily could see how she liked her twin interfering in professional affairs on account of incomprehensible personal motivations. Except her motivations wouldn't be incomprehensible precisely; they'd be well apparent. Luckily for Emily, Katie's desire for progress outweighed her impulse for revenge and it would have been a good revenge as well, knowing how much effort Emily had put into the project. It wasn't worth it to derail the whole fucking thing to spite her. Or Campbell. That didn't mean Katie needed to _see_ Emily or have communications with her period, cordial or otherwise.

"Emily," Katie said. "I don't want to see her."

"Okay," Fiona assented, not even seeming surprised.

"If she's got something to report, it goes to JJ."

"Understood."

"I don't want to see her or her fucking assistant. Or the blue haired one. Or Phillip. None of them."

"I'll see to it."

"Good, because—"

She shut her mouth midsentence, scowling up at the tall doctor that knocked quietly on her open office door. Jen surveyed the scene, eyebrows arching.

"Well, that's never a good sign," said Jen.

"What's not?" said Katie wearily.

"When you walk into a room and everyone goes quiet."

"Good morning, Doctor Carter," Fiona said.

Jen grimaced. "Good morning, Miss…uh—hey, this is unfair! I don't even know your last name."

Taking no notice of her, Katie rounded her desk, trying to stay focused on the matter at hand with Fiona. "And then mixer with the fucking interns tonight. Is everything ready?"

Nodding, Fiona lowered her iPad. "Is there anything else?"

"No." Katie turned to Jen as she moved aside to let Fiona past. "And what do you want?"

"A 'good morning' would be nice. No pressure or anything."

"If you've not got anything useful to say, I'm busy."

Jen imitated a mouth with her fist, doing a very poor impression of Katie's accent, complete with faint lisp as she said, "Oh, hey, Jen. I'm so happy to see you. How are you?"

Then in her normal voice, "Not bad Katie, yourself?"

"Well, I had a massive fight last night with my sister that I want to tell you about."

"I was just going to ask about that!"

The real Katie rolled her eyes. "Are you finished?"

"You gonna say sorry to me first?"

"For fucking—I'm sorry. There. Are you happy?"

"Chuffed."

Startled, Katie looked a little taken aback. "What?"

"I'm trying to learn British slang words."

"Oh, brilliant. Now you'll make even less sense than usual."

"Do you want to talk instead?"

Chagrined, Katie sighed. "Just…stop. Please?"

"Okay." Jen raised her hands. "Had to try."

Katie gathered up her laptop, not lingering to bait additional comments from Jen on the topics of Emily, her exhaustion, or her diet. Recognising her interview with Katie was over, Jen decided she'd have to be persistent if she had any hope of extracting a bit more information out of her.

+o+o

For all that she'd neglected to practise in the aftermath of the Great Loo Incident, her presentation wasn't going too poorly. Standing up in front of twenty recent graduates did not carry the same omens of humiliation and immediate death that two hundred experts in host pathogen interactions did. As she rapidly worked out she could say practically anything and it would be lapped up with merry belief, her customary terror of public speaking evolved into a vague annoyance that there was one bloke falling asleep at the back. Were their situations reversed, she couldn't be certain she wouldn't have fallen asleep as well in the warm dark of the room.

"Your performance will be assessed quarterly," Katie said, indicating the timeline on one of her slides. "While your project managers will submit evaluations, _you_ will be expected to present to your colleagues and the review committee accordingly."

Not so tired all of a sudden, many of them. An uneasy gleam of fear radiated from the interns, who sat up straighter and started concentrating keenly on what Katie was saying. She smiled for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, equal parts pleasure and empathy.

"It's your responsibility," Katie said, "to show you understand your department and the task you've been set. Part of that is learning strong communication skills, even to those not in your field."

She rattled on, describing the particulars of the process and the committee members. She also detailed by what criteria they would be judging. At the end of it, she was considerably more relaxed than the anxious interns. They murmured amongst themselves while she closed the lid to her MacBook and brought the lights back up. The flip side of the coin struck her as a lovely place to be. As she enjoyed her chuckle at their expense, a large shadow blotted out the sun.

"Um, hello," Katie said to the looming silhouette.

"Katie, I've been wanting to meet you for ages."

Well, it was a girl. As Katie's eyes adjusted to the brightness of the light, she saw that it was Amanda. Extending a cautious hand to shake, she let out a soft grunt as Amanda dispensed with polite introductions and hugged her. Being addressed like an old friend by someone who was two days removed from being a total stranger was jarring enough without being manhandled into an embrace. Extracting herself, Katie stiffly smoothed the front of her blouse.

"We're like, sisters," Mandy said like that was supposed to explain everything.

"Sorry?" asked Katie.

"Your mum's CEO, my dad is on the board. We're like sisters."

"I've already got a sister."

"Then, cousins!"

Katie's eyes widened. "Oh, right. I…and you're…Amanda Bairstow."

"Mandy."

"Mandy."

"I'm so excited to come work with you."

"Is JJ on your rotation schedule?"

Mandy tittered. "No, silly."

Losing patience, Katie said, "Then why would we work together?"

"Oh, I'm not _doing_ rotations."

What the fuck did that mean? Under Mandy's right arm (as Katie was too short to see over her shoulder) Fiona stealthily beckoned for her from the doorway. Her life clearly consisted of an endless string of interruptions.

"Excuse me," Katie said, ducking away.

"We're almost ready on the twelfth floor," Fiona said. "Would you like to come take a look?"

"Please."

Grinning, Fiona held open the door for her. Together they went up to the large reception area on the top floor. Typically reserved for courting high profile investors or contracts, the room was gorgeous. The walls, the ceiling, even portions of the floor were glass, lending the sensation that you were floating in the sky rather than stood in a building. A long bar ran along one wall, cosy niches and sofas, a sound systems that could put clubs to shame. Fitch afforded her such lavish things, complete with views that stretched away from her for miles. The reception seemed in order.

Her remaining qualms rested solely with the DJ, because she had no idea what sort of music was considered appropriate for a _casual_ event of that sort. At the moment, he bobbed his head along to some numbing repetitive downtempo, modern and inoffensive. She'd encourage the interns to make requests. Around the time the interns and departmental staff began to file in like reluctant teenagers at a school dance, Jen appeared from the woodwork, joining Katie. On her other side, Fiona busily scrutinised the caterers as they went to and fro.

"You're not here to ask me more stupid questions about Emily, are you?" Katie asked.

"I'm really bored," whined Jen.

Katie just looked at her, wholly unsympathetic.

"I'm at your leisure. Until you're free there's not much I can do."

"I'll get—"

Patting her indulgently, Jen shushed her. "Calm down." She clicked her tongue. "I have to hand it to you, Fitch. I kind of thought this was going to be like pharmaceutical senior prom or something, but this is pretty sweet."

"Thanks."

"I mean, this room alone. Jesus! It's really—" Jen's voice died, followed almost immediately by a muted, "Holy _shit_."

"It's not that great."

"No, Katie—it's…it's Effy."

Across the dance floor, like a scene from a fucking film, was Emily, flanked by Effy on her left and Addison on her right. The miserable cliché of it actually gave Katie a laugh, the six of them squared off on opposite edges of the floor. Katie damned her 6/4 vision, because although Effy was partially obscured behind Emily, she could still see the glimmer of a silver chain on her chest, the texture of the silk in her shirt.

"Are we the Sharks of the Jets?" Jen muttered out the corner of her mouth.

Fiona craned her neck. "Sharks, I think."

Nudging Katie, Jen said, "Where's your switchblade, Tony?"

"If you burst into song I swear to God," Katie warned.

"I need to know! Because I'm not doing the stitching if you cut a bitch."

"This is fucking ridiculous."

Katie refused to be cowed, not to Effy or to anyone. Marching smartly over to her twin, she graced the three of them with a tight-lipped smile. Behind her, Jen and Fiona shared a panicked glance before rushing over to back Katie up, pressing in around her.

"Look who's here," said Katie.

"Yes," Emily said. "It's required."

"Why is _she _here?"

"Because she's my assistant, Katie. Fiona's here, isn't she?"

Sidling back, Effy signed something, and at once she had Katie's undivided attention.

"She says—" Addison began as she interpreted.

"I know what she fucking said," Katie spat, already moving toward her.

Abandoned, the remaining four hung together in an awkward pack, watching the two women retreat into the corridor. Clearing her throat, Jen looked down at Emily.

"So that happened, huh?" she asked.

"I already wish it hadn't," Emily confessed.

Nodding, Jen cocked her head at the next song. "Whatever _did_ happen to Missy Elliott?"

"She lost a lot of weight," said Addison. "And she's gay, I think."

Jen burst out laughing. "That's hilarious! That's exactly what…" Withering under Fiona's glower, she finished meekly, "nobody ever said."

It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry to keep leaving you guys with these weird cliffhangers. Hope you're still enjoying the story!**


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